


Apple Pie Steve

by DefiniteDistraught



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefiniteDistraught/pseuds/DefiniteDistraught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye when she said, “Ok.”</p>
<p>Steve was dumbfounded until she smiled brightly at him. “Ok. Fine. So you’re Captain America. I’m Charlotte, from Arizona. I love thunderstorms, and dogs and am currently unemployed.” She smiled again and extended her hand towards him.</p>
<p>“I’m Capt-”</p>
<p>“No. You’re Steve. Captain America is your description.”</p>
<p>Steve smiled, with teeth and everything because, wasn’t she just fantastic? She knew he was Captain America, and yet she still wanted to know Apple Pie Steve, the man with a routine and a schedule and a sketchpad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feel Again

Steve Rogers was fascinated by the 21st century. Contrary to what Tony Stark liked to divulge, he did, in fact, rather like technology. Perhaps he was not adequate at handling even the most basic forms of technology (he was still apologizing for the burnt toaster), but he marveled at the ingenuity of these foreign machines even if he could not really use them. They were a shock and new and so very different from the appliances (or lack thereof) he had grown up with during the depression. 

Technology was not the only new thing that amazed him, however. In fact, it was the women of the 21st century that captivated Steve the most. It was not as if he disliked the liberties women had now, in fact, he thought it fitting of the times and was rather happy to see more Peggy Carter’s in the world. It certainly wasn’t the manners in which women now dressed, because even if he was dubbed the Virginal Good Boy by Tony Stark, he was also a man and he knew when to  
appreciate trousers on a woman. No, what captivated him the most was boldness which some of the women he’d met oozed. 

Never mind that he’s seen women do unspeakable things to a pole thanks to Tony Stark (and it seemed all bad things in Steve’s life were authored by Tony Stark), or that he’d had some of them make him feel naked and, dare he admit it, raped by just one stare. But it was the bluntness of some of these women he encountered, asking him on dates, or even casual sexual encounters (he would always forget how to properly speak when this was asked) that amazed him. What was more amazing, Steve marveled, was that these women did not even know he was Captain America, and yet still flocked to him for whatever reason.

Since the New York incident, Steve was happy to know that the public did not know that Captain America and Steve Rogers were one of the same. Since the attacks by Loki and the Chitauri had been so dense and wild and downright chaotic, camera crews were not able to capture his naked face. The only pictures of him were with his mask in place, and so, Steve Rogers was just like any other man. Except, like previously stated, women somehow found him attractive.

Steve supposed that, were he to be more interested in the topic of psychology, he would be able to trace the fact that he still felt like the 90 pound, asthmatic-and-every-other-disease-known-to-man-kind Steve that he was before the serum to his lingering lack of confidence with women. He was insecure, he could admit in the solitude of his thoughts, and it was strange to have women want him when back in the 40’s the most he’d get from women were disgusted and pitied looks pre-serum.

And then there was the woman from the coffee shop. She was the one that did not confound, or amaze him. She was tall, curvy in a way that said she did not do diets like Pepper Potts, pale with long brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and brown eyes that spoke of sincerity. After she’d smiled for the first time, took his coffee order and called him ‘Sir’ (an oddity in the 21st century, he had already established since she was the only person aside from JARVIS, Tony’s AI, that still used the term), she’d gone and done the same for the man and woman at the table next to his. Now, Steve was not vain, but it felt weird to not have her stammering or casually slipping her phone number under his napkin like all the women Steve had met so far.

And he liked that.

So, he became a frequent customer, always arriving at 8:00am on the dot after his morning at the gym and shower, and always ordering a black coffee and piece of apple pie (which, he was painfully aware, if Tony found out would only create a monster made up of bad jokes with the words “America” and “Apple Pie” in every single one of them). 

She had been cordial the first few mornings, with her smiles and ‘Sir’s” until she realized that he might just become a permanent. It was then, when Steve had gone almost every morning for two consecutive weeks, and ordering the same items off the menu, that she’d grinned and commented something along the lines of routines and being glad someone else loved apple pie as much as she did.

That seemed to break the ice, and Steve had soon found out that her name was Charlotte, she worked every morning at the café, and that she was currently a student at NYU on scholarship because, “Zeus’ knows I can’t afford a school like that to save my life.” And he was just Steve, the Army-Guy who liked routine and schedules and liked being polite. He was not Captain America, just Steve, and he was in love.

Of course, Steve should have realized that smiling more than usual and completely zoning out in the middle of Director Fury’s debriefing would have attracted attention to himself. But he did not, since his thoughts were only on the way Charlotte’s eyes lit up when he’d say something particularly nice or funny, and how she’d stopped calling him Sir and he was now just Steve and she was not Ma’am, but just Charlotte, and the sketchbook he’d just purchased the month prior was already half filled with portraits of her, smiling, or listening intently to someone making an order, lower lip caught between her teeth and forehead scrunched in concentration. And he could not even begin to contemplate the detail he’d put in capturing the scrunch of her nose when she was talking about something particularly scandalizing or maddening. 

And like in every other aspect of his life since joining the Avengers, Tony Stark made sure to butt his nose into what he should not have.  
Steve arrived at exactly 8:00am at the café and seated himself at the same table he always did, picking up the small menu and reading it more out of habit than anything else. He saw Charlotte taking the orders off a table full of what looked like foreigners, as they were all pointing at menus while her forehead scrunched in concentration, pointing at things in the menu and gesticulating portion size and such. Steve smiled to himself and prepared for the interesting conversation she would bring around once she got to his table.

And then the bell above the café’s door announced the arrival of someone and Steve stopped breathing from a combination of mortification and anger. Tony Stark swaggered in, in a plain shirt and jeans with Bruce Banner tailing behind him, shooting Steve an apologetic look, and he knew that the doctor had come for damage control, rather than to cause misery, and wasn’t that a small miracle to be thankful for?

“Steve!” Tony waved, a small smirk promising chaos on his face, and a knowing look in his eyes that said he was well aware that he was causing a scene, and, that, yes, that was exactly what he was looking for.

By the time Tony and Bruce walked the few feet between the entrance and Steve’s table, the whole café had already realized that The Tony Stark was about to have lunch at this particular café, and didn’t phones now have cameras? It took twenty minutes of signing napkins, taking selfies and meeting the manager of the café who promised a free breakfast for Tony and his two friends and the closing of the café so that, “Mr. Stark can have a peaceful and enjoyable breakfast without the fuss,” before the excitement became a mild buzz within the now closed café and those lucky enough to have arrived before Tony Stark.  
During all of this, Steve’s eyes could not leave Charlotte, and the way she hung back from the chaos, nose scrunched at times (and God, was that adorable, Steve couldn’t help thing), and whose eyes kept darting to and from Tony Stark, Steve and Bruce, and he knew that she was so bright, bright enough to figure out what Tony Stark’s presence meant. At the sudden widening of her eyes when the manger had called her over to take their table’s ordering and the nose scrunch when she narrowed her eyes at Steve, he knew she knew. 

“Good morning, my name’s Charlotte and I’ll be taking your orders today. What can I get you?” Was the first thing she said, and, for the first time since he’s first met her, her brown eyes were not meeting any other eyes. In fact, they were neutrally placed on her small notepad.

Tony’s devious look between Charlotte and Steve, and the following eyebrow waggling had Steve thinking that maybe being Captain America was not all it was cracked up to be as committing murder was looking more and more appealing as the seconds passed in Tony’s presence.

“What’s good to eat here, Sweetcheeks?” Tony asked with a wide, Cheshire cat grin on his face. Steve heard the distinct sound of Bruce’s foot kicking Tony’s shin but the mechanic gave no inclination of feeling it.

“Just Charlotte, please. And, I’d personally recommend the apple pie, but the croissants with jam are good as well.” Charlotte looked straight at Tony as she said this, and Steve knew the newfound fire in her eyes was there because of the nickname.

“I’ll have the croissants and maybe some green tea, if you have any?” Bruce intercepted before Tony could say anything else (much less make a comment on the apple pie, since they all knew that would be what he would latch onto first), and Charlotte smiled wanly at him, asking how he took his tea.

“I want a sandwich. As greasy and meaty as you can make it. No mayo. No vegetables of any kind. And black coffee as strong as you can get it.” Tony suddenly spoke, derailing the attention back to himself.

“We don’t-” Charlotte began, but was cut off by her manager.

“Of course! We don’t usually serve sandwiches until noon, but it wouldn’t do to have customers of such caliber unhappy. Right, Charlotte?”

“Yep.” Was the crypt reply before she jotted down the order and turned to Steve with a raised eyebrow. “The usual?” 

Steve wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to apologize (although he wasn’t entirely sure what for aside from Tony’s attitude), and wanted to tell her that he was still just Steve, and well, yes, Captain America too, but that he promised that if she’d just go on one date with him, he’d make sure no one, not even Tony Stark, would get to her.

Instead, Steve swallowed thickly and nodded heavily. Their eyes met and she smiled a small smile, almost sad, and left after saying she would be back with their orders in a few minutes.

“I am so sorry, Steve. We tried to tell him this was stupid-“

“This is not stupid! I’m trying to hook Steve up with our fine Charlotte. And don’t give me the kicked puppy look, Cap’n, you should really keep your sketches better hidden, and your navigational system on your phone turned off. You made this too easy. Ow! Bruce, stop it! My shins are already purple!”

Steve sighed and resigned to never seeing Charlotte again over Bruce’s admonishing and Tony’s excuses, his anger subsiding and just becoming a nauseous feeling at the prospect of unrequited love (which, in retrospect, could have been the title of his life story pre-serum).

And then, because life has never and will never be normal for Steve Rogers, Charlotte came back out of the kitchen door with a platter with two black coffees and a tea on top of it, expertly maneuvering between the tables around her before the man on the table besides Steve’s scooted back and Charlotte and the steaming drinks went flying.

And with the same luck that followed him whenever Tony Stark was in the room, the coffees and the tea land all on him, Charlotte gracelessly draped over the man’s lap. There was silence for a few pregnant seconds before Steve realized just how hot the liquid running down his face and chest was, Tony realized how amusing the situation was, and Bruce pushed Tony out of the booth onto the floor so that he could asses Steve’s burn while Charlotte stared wide eyed at Steve from across the man’s lap. 

Chaos ensued again as the manager grabbed Charlotte by her arm and dragged her from the stunned man’s lap, all the while yelling about firing her and how utterly stupid she was. People began pulling out phones, documenting the whole thing as Tony’s laughter subsided altogether, Steve saw red, and Charlotte’s eyes filled to the brim with tears as she yanked herself from her manager’s grip. 

Again, a pregnant pause before Steve walked calmly to the manager, sidestepping Charlotte and her trembling chin, before punching the man in the jaw. Silence again was pierced by Tony’s amused snort and the flashing of phone cameras.

“Are you alright, Charlotte?” Steve asked, turning away from the man on the floor.

Her eyes were still wide, a few tears having escaped as she nodded.

Steve nodded in response, a little awkwardly, now having come down from the adrenaline and not knowing how to proceed.

“Your face. It’s, um, burnt. I think? I’m sorry.” Charlotte said, stepping closer to him and moving as if to touch his face, second guessing herself at the last second and letting her arm fall to her side. 

“It’s fine. I heal fast. You know, because of the whole…thing.” Steve said, hoping that she understood that he knew that she knew that he was Captain America and that he was fine with it if she was.

Her forehead scrunched in confusion, “What thing?”

Bruce intercepted before Steve could respond, “Alright, folks. Nothing to see here. If you’d just follow me outside…” His suggestion was swallowed among the protests of those who wanted to know what was going on until Tony stood up from where he had landed and stayed when Bruce pushed him, and exclaimed, “I got the suit outside. Free pictures, come on, people, nothing to see in here.” 

Once everyone had rushed outside, Bruce sighed, muttering, “He doesn’t have the suit, that stupid man,” before leaving the café with shy smile towards Steve and Charlotte as he exited.

“What thing?” Charlotte asked him again once Bruce had closed the door behind him.

“The Cap-wait, no, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I’m not sure I know. I mean, just because you’re Tony Stark’s best friend or whatever doesn’t make you heal faster, I think. I mean, no matter how much people  
idolize him, I doubt the man has any divine powers-”

“What? Wait, no, I don’t-is that the conclusion you came to when Tony was causing all that commotion when he first came in?”

“What?” She asked, confusion all over her face.

“When your eyes when all wide while you were looking at us. I thought-I thought maybe you had found out who I really am-”

“What do you mean what you really are? And no! I-” Here, Charlotte blushed a pretty pink, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I just thought, that, I don’t know. That I kind of liked you and I thought you kind of liked me back, but, well, I wasn’t too sure because I have to experience with the opposite sex at all, and that you knew Tony Stark, and quite intimately if he was having breakfast with you and all I could think of was that you were now a hundred more times out of my league than before and that I should probably just not ever be near you again-”

“I like you too.” Steve blurted, the tips of his ears bright red, a shy smile on his face.

Charlotte smiled shyly back at him, pulling a piece of stray brown hair behind her ear.

The manager on the floor groaned and the attention was diverted towards his squirming form.

“Wait, you still haven’t told me what you thought I thought I knew.” Charlotte said suddenly, her attention turned towards Steve again, who had moved closer in case he had to punch the man again.

Steve decided that, for once, he had choices to make. He could very well tell her a small lie, say that he is Tony’s partner in business, or son (that one made no sense even to him, but he figured Tony could be old enough to be his father). This option would allow him to court her (he wasn’t too sure that was a term used anymore) and maybe create some quasi normal transvestite of a normal life before he laid it out that he was not, in fact, having an affair, but actually saving the earth from maniacs, and, wow, did his train of thought escalate quickly. Or he could tell her the truth, so that when he was injured or late to a date or gone to who-knows-where on SHIELD assignments she knew exactly what he was doing. It gave her the choice of saying that, no, she would very much not like to start a relationship with a superhero before things got too complicated. Before it was so late that her leaving meant devastation.

He steeled himself, and drew out a bit of Captain America into his person so that some form of bravery would help him say what he needed to say. “I’m actually Captain America, ma’am-erm, Charlotte. Sorry, Captain America says ma’am a lot.” He smiled nervously down at her.

There was a long silence and Steve would be lying if he did not say that he suddenly hated silences. 

Charlotte took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye when she said, “Ok.”

Steve was dumbfounded until she smiled brightly at him. “Ok. Fine. So you’re Captain America. I’m Charlotte, from Arizona. I love thunderstorms, and dogs and am currently unemployed.” She smiled again and extended her hand towards him.

“I’m Capt-”

“No. You’re Steve. Captain America is your description.”

Steve smiled, with teeth and everything because, wasn’t she just fantastic? She knew he was Captain America, and yet she still wanted to know Apple Pie Steve, the man with a routine and a schedule and a sketchpad.

“I’m Steve, from Brooklyn. I love sketching, and apple pie, and am currently living half of my life in unemployment.”

“Captain America probably has a lot of work.”

“Sometimes.”

“But you’re not-I mean, that is to say, Steve-is not busy for dinner tonight?” She asked, and Steve decided he liked this kind of bluntness in the women of the  
21st century.  
“Never for you, ma’am. Sorry, Charlotte.” Steve chuckled. “Steve says ma’am a lot too.”


	2. One and Only

Steve Rogers came to the realization that falling in love in the 21st century was quite easy. Or maybe falling in love with Charlotte was easy? He wasn’t too sure, as she was the first woman he had truly been in love with. Of course, there had been Peggy, strong, beautiful Peggy from the ‘40’s, when Steve was another man, and time did not allow for the slow process of truly falling in love, rather, it only allowed time for crushes and failed dates. It did not allot time to the sluggish pace of falling in love.

Because that is what it truly was. Falling in love was easy, but slow, Steve concluded. Except it was sort of different than slow. It was slow, painstakingly so, at first, and then it was there. Sort of like falling asleep with a racing mind. Lightning fast at first, with a head full of thoughts, some rational, some completely irrational. And then, sleep. Just suddenly, out of nowhere, love was there, the kind that was happy and sometimes painful, but oh so worth it. 

Their first date wasn’t the night that Charlotte was fired. In fact, it was not the night after, nor the week after. It took a whole month before Steve was able to properly take Charlotte out on a date. The first night, the Avengers had been called into action to fight something or another (really, all these mad scientists and their havoc wreaking experiments were blurring at this point from the sheer amount of them). Thankfully, Charlotte had given him her number so that he could call if a change of plans took place. And when he’d called, she’d merely laughed, an easy-going kind of laugh, and told him she’d wait for him and to have fun-  
“um. Safe. Not fun. I meant, be safe. I’ pretty sure what you’re going to do is not going to be fun, although if you wanted to make it fun, I‘m not judging.”  
And Steve had laughed and told her he’d have fun and that he would stay safe, and that he’d called when he got back.

Only, when he got back, he’d probably had an hour before he was asked to travel with Natasha to Finland on a mission that, to be honest, he didn’t even know what it entailed. It seemed Natasha knew so too, since she’d told him to just fight when the time came. And he did.

That had taken a week to take care of, with another two spent in Russia in what Natasha had called a “diplomatic mission. No big deal,” but had actually turned out to be the sort of mission where Steve used his shield and the gun Natasha had given to him at the beginning far too many times. They’d come out alive, with only minor scrapes and a deep set exhaustion that provided Steve with a full 48 hours of continuous sleep.

So when he’d finally gotten around to calling Charlotte about a date (and, yes, Steve knew how to use a phone, thank you), Steve was expecting rejection, a full on refusal to sharing a life with a man that postponed dates until further notice, and was in the line of fire one hundred percent of the time.   
“You’re not dead! I figured I’d hear if you were, anyway-in the news or something,” was the first thing she said when he called, and, man, was he rendered completely speechless. 

“uh, you still there, Steve?” She’d asked when he hadn’t responded for a while.

“Yes. Yeah. I’m not dead. I’m sorry about the not calling, I was a bit busy,” and there. He’d ruined it, because he was pretty sure that he was not supposed to say that he was too busy to call a girl, and God, did he feel like melting into the sidewalk.

“It’s fine. Busy is good. I’ve been busy too, what with midterms and all that. And, oh! I got a job. Finally! Still waitressing, but I don’t mind. I like meeting people,” Steve could picture her smiling, and he smiled in turn.

“I’ll have to relocate my breakfast place, then.” He almost punched himself. Really? Follow her like a stalker. Because that is what Charlotte was thinking, Steve was sure. He was a stalker, and he could not backpedal on that one.

But Charlotte laughed, and said, “I’ll give you that address when I see you next…I mean, you still want to do dinner with me, right? Because if you don’t, that’s completely fine, I’ll just-”

“No! Of course I want to still have dinner with you. How about tonight?” 

“Yeah, sure! I-uh-yeah. Where? I can maybe meet you there?”

And Steve refused to meet her, because he was a gentleman, and this was a date, and he would pick her up and walk her back home and be completely gentlemanly like his mother had raised him, thank-you-very-much.

So the plans were set, and she’d given him directions to the small apartment she rented with two other people, and he was going on a date. His first date ever, since Bucky’s poor attempts at setting him up always left him as a chaperone, not a date, and would he need a chaperone? Did people still do that?  
“What are you, twelve? No!” And he realized asking Tony Stark had been a bad idea but Natasha was out of town on a mission somewhere with Clint, Bruce was in India again doing doctor stuff, Thor was pretty unreachable in another realm, and Steve was not going to ask Nick Fury about 21st century dating protocols.  
“What you do is this, Cap, and listen well, because Tony Stark doesn’t give love advice for free-” and Steve refused to listen to the rest, quickly tuning the man out before he’d hear too much.

In the end, Steve decided to just take her out to dinner to a small Italian restaurant he and the rest of the Avengers had ventured into once after battling killer robots. The food was good, Steve knew, and it was small enough to be private, and cozy. They could talk and maybe he would not make a complete fool out of himself.

Steve stood at her door at exactly 7:00 pm that Thursday night, dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a navy button down shirt, his leather jacket pulling it all together. He’d briefly played with the idea of wearing his army uniform, but he’d reminded himself that this was the 21st century and, no, people probably didn’t dress like that on the first date. 

She’d open the door quickly enough, with an excited smile and a breathless, “hello,” before she grabbed his hand, closed the door behind her and led him back down the stairs of the apartment complex.

Once outside, she’d let go of his hand and turned to him.

“Sorry, my roommates were having an intense game of ping pong on our dining table, and I figured that’d be too much for you to witness on a first date.”  
But Steve was still speechless, because, yes, she’d held his hand, and wasn’t that just one of the greatest feeling he’d ever had?

“You’re left completely speechless that easy, huh?” she smiled, and Steve slappde himself internally. He finally took a good look at her, and noticed that her hair was down, the first time he’d seen it that way, in a wild mess of brown waves. She was wearing a simple, knee length navy blue dress, a black leather jacket on top, and a pair of worn looking brown ankle boots, and Steve didn’t think he’d seen a more beautiful woman ever.

“Sorry, I was running a bit late and my hair gives a whole new definition to the word stubborn. I hope I’m not underdressed?” She was blushing and Steve realized he’d been staring for too long.

“You look beautiful.” He’d said sincerely, and the shy smile and red cheeks that greeted his compliment did not allow him to berate himself for saying such a bold thing. 

“You do too,” she turned a darker shade of red and Steve smiled in amusement, “Not beautiful, handsome. You look handsome. Although, I mean, you can be beautiful if you prefer…I’ll be shutting up now.”

Steve laughed and told her he hoped she wouldn’t and led her over to his motorcycle. 

“I hope you don’t mind riding a motorcycle. I don’t exactly know how to drive a car,” and she was wearing a dress, and good going Steve, she’s going to think you’re trying to pull something. “If you wanted to change into pants…”

“What? No, I have shorts underneath, see?” She lifted her dress to show him a pair of black spandex shorts and the world suddenly turned into the Sahara Desert, and it was hot, so hot-why was it hot?

Charlotte seemed to notice this and quickly smoothed down her dress and made a funny sort of noise that Steve wasn’t sure was not despair incarnated.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I’m just-it’s just. Sorry. I’m awkward.” She finished and looked at him as if doing so would explain what she just did.

“It’s fine.” Was all he said because, well, he was awkward too but he didn’t think he could quite voice it out like she could. 

But dinner had been better. After they settled down, Charlotte had not hesitated in telling him that she’d have to call her mother and tell her she’d gotten on a motorcycle, and that the woman would probably have a heart attack. Steve had tried to apologize, but Charlotte had laughed in her own sort of way, the kind that made Steve feel like it really all was alright and her mother having a heart attack was no big deal. 

“I’m just letting you know, I’m not a salad kind of girl,” she’d told him when the menus had arrived.

Steve smiled. “I guess I’ll let you know that I eat the equivalent of a week’s worth of food in one sitting.”

“Surprisingly, that’s not impressive. I have two younger brothers, both of whom are about your size. It’ll take a lot to impress me, Steve.”

And talking was made easy with Charlotte. One minute they were talking about her brothers, both in college, although she was due to graduate that May while they were barely starting. Then, she was talking about old literature classics, and Steve was able to follow because what else was there to do when he spent most of his childhood indoors? And she loved Dickens, and he didn’t, but that was fine because he loved Shakespeare and she was not a big fan of him. And then she was talking about politics and sounding smart, and, well, Steve was barely keeping up with the conversation at that point, but she was patient and explained everything she said.

“Half the people I meet, including my family, never follow along when I talk politics. I’ve just learned to explain as I talk,” she’d told him before she’d asked him about his drawings.

And that had been his turn to begin talking about his favorite painters, and she’d smiled while he talked and asked questions about his favorite painters and the kind of drawings he did.

“People, mostly. I haven’t had much time for sight-seeing lately, which is usually what gives me inspiration.”

“I love people watching! Do you do that to get ideas for drawing people?” 

How was he supposed to explain that, no, he did not people watch? In fact, he just watched her, and pictured her countless times in his head and drew her from memory.

“I guess. I haven’t sat and just watched people in a while, if that’s what you’re saying,” he said, because he was not going to tell her he had a sketchbook full of her face.

“You haven’t lived! It’s the best. You just sit there and watch. I guess it’s not so great, but it’s fun when you have some time in your hands,” she said, and then asked, “you’ll have to show me your drawings sometime, maybe?”

And he’d agreed because she’d looked so hopeful, and maybe he’d have to spend some time drawing other people before he showed her anything. 

It was not until they were sitting with small cups of strong coffee and two pieces of cheesecake between them that Captain America came up.

“So, I didn’t want to ask before because of privacy, but now I just feel rude for not even mentioning it, but, anyway. How…did-was everything fine this last month? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m on a date with Steve Rogers, after all.” She’d asked over the brim of her small coffee mug.

Steve smiled because she was on a date with him, and not Captain America, and that was the first time she’d mentioned him that night. So he launched into the story of his month, without revealing information that could potentially get her in trouble, but enough to keep her eyes wide and impressed. He’d be a liar of he didn’t admit he kind of enjoyed seeing the amazement in her eyes when he retold his month.

After dinner turned into a rather long process. She was adamant about paying since she’d asked him for dinner a month ago in the first place, “remember?” and he refused to let her pay because he was a gentleman and gentlemen paid for the meal at the end. Except he didn’t say that because he didn’t think saying he was a gentleman out loud would actually be a gentlemanly thing to do, so he settled for reminding her that this was a date, and he would like to pay, “please.” She’d sighed and let him hand the waiter the bill (which he hadn’t let her see in the first place) with the little plastic card SHIELD had assured him was now a form of currency. She’d gone without protest after that, smiling at the waiter and thanking him on the way out, and if she noticed that Steve noticed when she placed a few bills on the table before leaving, she didn’t comment on it. 

They had stood at the front of her apartment door, where Steve could hear a man and a woman arguing loudly over what he could only assume was the ping pong match Charlotte had mentioned before when Steve realized that he had successfully gone through his first real date.

“Ping pong is taken very seriously in our apartment.” Charlotte told him as she smiled sheepishly up at him.

He smiled back because sparring matches turned ugly at SHIELD when any of the Avengers were involved, and he could relate. 

“Can I see you again?” He asked after a moment.

“Of course. I thought we had established I’m seeing that sketchbook of yours,” she smiled a teasing smile and Steve laughed because he was happy. “You mentioned you’ve never been to the MET. We could go? I went there my freshman year because of a school assignment, but I honestly didn’t pay much attention.”

Steve agreed and they had a second date. There was no kiss on their first date, just a hug that Steve cherished to a near embarrassing level, but he was beyond happy.

Steve found out the way love worked on their seventh date. He’d liked Charlotte a lot on their first six dates, finding it easy to make her laugh by just being himself and he found himself doing a lot of laughing and smiling himself. He could not think of any other time in his life, even pre-freezing, that he’d been so truly, and utterly happy.

So he’d established that he liked her. A lot. And she’s told him that she liked him a lot too.

And then the seventh date came around. They’d been walking around central park, holding hands, for half an hour now, as this was Charlotte’s first morning off in a while and she insisted on going outside even with the brisk November air, when Iron Man had landed in front of the pair seemingly out of nowhere.

“Killer robots. Again. Honestly, you’d think they’d get that this is getting old fast. We need you Cap.” He’d said and all Steve could do was turn to Charlotte to ask if it was alright if he left in the middle of their date when she’d frowned at him.

“I swear, Steve, if you ask, I might have to punch you. Go. I’ll be fine. Call me when you can?” She looked him straight in the eye, daring him to say no to her.

Distantly, Steve heard an inappropriate whipping sound coming from what he could only assume was Iron Man, but he chose to ignore it in favor of looking at Charlotte. 

“Ok. I’ll get somebody to pick you up-”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get on the subway-no, don’t frown-and go back home. I have homework, anyway. Go.” She urged again. “And stay safe. You too, Mr. Stark.”

Before Tony could come up with witty retort to her heed, a small explosion was heard in the distance. “Time to go, Cap.”

“Go.” Charlotte said again, hugging him briefly, and kissing his cheek. Steve smiled and let Tony grab him by the middle, flinching only briefly at the feeling of free falling before he was stabilized in midair.

The battle was easy enough since killer robots had become a regular opponent as of lately, so there were no wounds to tend to after the battle, and only minimal clean-up.

“Rogers. In the van. Now.” Nick Fury’s voice came through the small communication device in his ear.

“Ooh. Someone’s in trouble.” Came Tony’s voice soon after.

“You too, Stark. Everyone, in the van.” Was Nick Fury’s response.

It was not until he was watching Charlotte having a stare down with Agent Maria Hill through a one way window that he realized that he was not about to be debriefed.

“I’m going to ask again, are you dating Captain America?” Steve heard the agent ask with her signature glare.

“Nope. I already said so, Ms. Hill, I am dating Steve Rogers.” Charlotte answered with a glare herself.

“So you’re dating Steve Rogers?”

“Yes…?” Charlotte responded, making it sound like a question, although irritation was clearly shown on her face.

“And are you aware that Steve Rogers and Captain America are the same person?”

“Well, if I didn’t before, I do now, don’t I?” Charlotte answered, and Tony snorted from beside Steve.

“What is she doing here? Get her out, she has nothing to do with anything,” Steve tried opening the door to the room, finding it locked. “You have three seconds   
to open that door before I rip it open myself.” Steve glared at Nick Fury, who looked furious with the situation.

“You will do no such thing, Captain. She is being interrogated-”

“Why?” Steve asked, voice hard as steel.

“She knows too much, and she is now of interest to SHIELD-”

“Because she’s dating me. With all due respect, sir, that is a bunch of bologna. I have made sure she knows nothing other than the fact that I am Captain America. This is none of SHEILD’s business-”

“Everything you do, Captain, is our business,” Nick Fury’s one eye glared at Steve, but the effect was lost with the background yelling of Charlotte.

“Look it here, lady! You’ve confiscated my bag, I’m pretty sure illegally, and have kept me in a room for the last five hours asking the same exact questions, and getting the exact same answers. I’ve asked for a lawyer and you’ve denied me one-again, illegal. I am two seconds from peeing my pants because I had to go, like, yesterday, and you’re glaring is getting real old, real fast. Let. Me. Go.” Charlotte’s glare intensified with the raising of her voice, a deep flush covering her face. 

And Steve had had enough, because Charlotte was not supposed to be here, and really, a one eyed glare was not as effective as it should be, so he rammed his shoulder into the door, effectively opening it with a loud bang. Charlotte’s startled gaze met his, and something akin to relief showed in her face, before she turned to Maria Hill and glared again, saying, “Excuse me,” as she began walking towards Steve.

This was where she would break up with him, Steve was sure, because who wanted to be bullied by a secret organization just for dating him? No one, Steve was sure was the answer, and he’d be lying if he didn’t feel that he was already heartbroken even before Charlotte reached his side.

But, like just about everything Charlotte did and said that confused Steve, he was dumbfounded when she took him by the hand when she reached him and began pulling him out the door and into the hallway where the rest of the Avengers and Nick Fury stood. She stopped dead when she saw the bunch, visibly inching closer to Steve’s side, and her hand squeezing his harder, when he stopped beside her. Nick Fury’s glare pointed directly at her probably wasn’t helping, so he pulled a glare of his own, daring the director to say anything. 

Just as Steve was getting ready to lay it on the Director about how he had no say on Steve’s personal life and the people in it (which really was not going to be as dramatic as it sounded, rather, it would have been rather anticlimactic, with Steve storming off with Charlotte in tow), he heard Charlotte sigh from his side. 

She was the first to speak.

“That was kind of rude. Actually, that was super rude and a total dick move. I don’t really appreciate being kidnapped on the way to the subway. Or on my way to anything, really. Also, I’d like to get my bag back,” After a pause, where no one said anything, she said, “and I’d like to know where the nearest restroom is…please.” She added as an afterthought to the group. Her voice sounded tired, and worn, but with a hint in it that warned anyone that she was not about to put up with more trouble.

“I’ll take you.” Natasha, as expected, was the first one to respond, gracefully walking past the dumbfounded men, leading Charlotte past the Director, who had let go of Steve’s with a relieved smile and a quiet, “thank you,” to Natasha.

“I like her,” piped Tony as soon as the women turned the corner. That seemed to wake everyone up.

“Ten bucks says she breaks up with Cap by tomorrow.” Clint said next, grinning widely, but without malice.

“Oh, come on! Have some faith,” Tony grinned back, “I give it a month.”

Bruce groaned and sent an apologetic look at Steve, “Tony-“

But Steve cut him off, saying, “she stays out of this, Fury,” and stalked off in the direction the women went, giving no time for anyone to argue.

He caught up with them as Charlotte was exiting the restroom, Natasha right behind her. Charlotte smiled when she saw him and turned to Natasha, “thank   
you…for bringing me to the restroom, I mean.”

Natasha nodded with a small smirk, caught Steve’s eyes and nodded again before telling Charlotte that she would get her bag as she walked away.

“I’m sorry. You should not have been brought into this.” And, yes, he knew that he looked and sounded pathetic, and desperate, but he wanted this relationship. 

He wanted Charlotte, and, darn it, he deserved to be selfish once in a while, was he not? He knew the minute he was enlisted into the army and injected with the serum that turned Steve Rogers into Captain America that he would have to sacrifice everything. And he had, had he not? He’d given up his life, and even a   
budding relationship with Peggy. If he gave up 70 years of his life, why could he not have just one thing? Why could he not just have Charlotte? 

Charlotte’s eyes softened, and she gave him the small, almost sad, smile that he had come to understand was her way of telling him she understood. He’d received that smile every time he had to cut a date short, or cancel on her because Captain America was needed. “It’s not your fault. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I didn’t know who you are before I went on that first date with you. If anything, this was more of a small inconvenience, and I now get the privilege of saying I have been interrogated by a government agency. Honestly, I’m a political science major. This is sort of a dream come true, knowing that the government has secrets. It’s probably supposed to be a big secret, I know, but I didn’t sign anything,” Charlotte smiled and interlaced her hand with his, her brown eyes telling Steve that she was teasing about speaking up, “Anyway, I don’t scare easily. And I don’t let go of people easily. You’re stuck with me for a while, I’m afraid.”

And Steve fell over the precipice, into a deep, warm, and comfortable sleep, and just like that, he was in love.

“Be my girl.” Was what came out of his mouth, and was instantly horrified. Firstly, he was pretty sure (actually, he was one hundred percent sure) that he was supposed to ask, not demand. Secondly, did she even want to go steady with him? Was that how it worked these days? They’d only gone on seven dates, and had not shared anything more than hugs and kisses on the cheek. Maybe it was too early? She’d told him she didn’t mind a slow pace when he’d told her the sort of slow pace his time period had ingrained in him. Thirdly, wow, he was impressed with himself for not saying that he was in love, because even he knew he had to wait more time before he said such powerful words. Lastly, he would not be surprised if she slapped him. Because she’d made sure that he knew that he was independent and her own person, and, God, he’d just demanded that he be her owner-or at least he thought that would be how she would take it.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, and smiled teasingly, “is that a 40’s thing?”

Steve could only nod.

Charlotte laughed, and looked at him with the brightest smile and bright eyes that told him she was not making fun of him, or the idea, but rather, that she was happy. So he let go of the breath he had been holding since he had blurted out his demand, and smiled shyly at her.

“And you’ll be my boy?” Steve nodded. “Ok. I’ll be your girl.”

And Charlotte was suddenly shrieking in laughter when Steve took her in his arms and spun her above him, her feet lifted off the ground and everything. He couldn’t help himself, then, and brought her down, looking down at her for a few seconds as her laughter subsided into a gentle smile, before his hands moved of their own accord, one gently grabbing the back of her neck, and the other cupping her cheek, a thumb tracing her lower lip, before he tipped his head down and met her lips. 

There were no explosions. No fireworks. Just a feeling of not being lonely, of being loved, and a warmth that he had not experienced since he’d been frozen. 

The kiss was soft, and tentative, just the touching of two shy lips. The kiss was home. 

And it was rudely interrupted by a clearing of a throat, and, “I’ve got your bag.”

Steve and Charlotte stepped away from each other slowly, Charlotte sighing, and Steve a cross between embarrassed (he knew he’d turned an unhealthy shade of red) and anger at his time being cut short.

“Thank you, um…”

“Natasha Romanov.” The assassin extended her hand for a shake, and Steve had to raise an eyebrow because that meant a lot coming from Natasha.

“Charlotte Owens.” She smiled at Natasha, and shook her hand.

“I know,” Natasha smirked in an almost threatening way before turning to Steve. “I’ll take care of the debriefing. Take her home.” And she was gone as silently as she came.

Her nose scrunched up. “Should I be scared?”

“No. I think she likes you.” Steve smiled and took her hand, leading her towards the locker rooms so that he could change out of his uniform.

She bumped her shoulders to his. “I like you.”

And Steve smiled, because, yes, he very much loved her, but he’s tone it down because he wanted to keep her around. He gently bumped her shoulders back, squeezing her hand little tighter in his. “I like you too.”


	3. XO

Steve and Charlotte had been in a relationship for five months when Steve was first seriously injured in the field. It wasn’t his first injury as Captain America (that’s is, of course, not counting being frozen for 70 years, because, no, Steve refused to think of that time as being one where he was alive), but it was his first serious injury as Captain America the Avenger, and as Steve Rogers, Charlotte’s ‘boy’. 

He didn’t remember much about that time. He distinctly remembered sitting across from Charlotte in her apartment while she typed away an essay on her laptop as he drew her when he got the call to meet up at SHIELD headquarters. He’d frowned, but told Charlotte that he had to go, and that he would call-like always-when he was done. She’d nodded distractedly, told him to have fun and to be safe, all the while her hands kept on typing. So he’d smiled, given her a longing kiss (that had gotten her attention for more than a few seconds) and got himself to headquarters within half an hour.

Half of Brooklyn seemed to be almost leveled to the ground by the time the Avengers congregated to meet their enemy. Except it was not just one person they were fighting. It was an army of alien looking things that Thor tried to explained to the rest but failed to do so when the group was swarmed by them. 

That was where Steve went into full Captain America mode, swiftly giving his teammates directions, while communicating with the backup SHIELD agents on where to strike while the Avengers took the brunt of the work. Steve had thought that that would suffice, and that they’d all be done by dinner time. He’d hoped so, anyway, since he had already made plans to drag Charlotte away from her essay and to hopefully get her to eat a decent meal (honestly, Steve could see a lot of Tony Stark’s work ethic in his girlfriend).

Except it had suddenly been 8 pm and SHIELD helicopters were atop the battle, providing the Avengers with lighting, as well as the field agents sight so that the fight could be contained to the already damaged city. And Steve was exhausted, and he knew everyone else was too; even the Hulk seemed to be losing interest in all the smashing that yielded no real results. 

And then there was white, hot pain on his side. It was dizzying, and the last thing he remembered was hitting the pavement while the com in his ear filled with the voices of Tony and Clint, who seemed to be the only ones to see his fall from their position high above. 

He did not wake up until much later, although he was not sure how much time had gone by since that had happened. The first thing he was aware of was the light artificial lighting in the room, the hand holding his, and the tickle of long hair against his arm.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that Charlotte was asleep by his bedside, half of her on a hard, plastic chair, while her upper body rested on his bed, her left hand holding his, her wild, curly hair splayed around her and his arm. Her forehead was pressed against his forearm, and from the little he saw, he could tell that she had not slept well for a while because of the dark bags under her closed eyes, and the general paleness of her appearance. Her hair, too, looked unkempt; not in the usual unruly way that her curls framed her face, but in a knotted, shine-less halo around her. Her clothes, he noticed, were rumpled too, something that was unusual for Charlotte as she liked to look put together on a regular basis, she’d assured him once. 

His right side hurt, he noticed a little while later, but he rejected the idea of calling a nurse (because he’d figured he was in a hospital) to let them know of his awakening, as he refused to wake Charlotte up. So he’d laid there, watching her back rise with every breath, and comforted himself with the sounds of her deep breathing. 

Steve watched her for about fifteen minutes before he was startled by Charlotte’s sharp intake of breath and her vice like grip on his hand. He was struck unable to do anything except watch her as she opened her eyes and took quick breathes to calm herself before she sat herself up (never letting go of his hand) and looked around the room. The hand not holding his came up to her hair to push it away from his face, but became tangled and stayed there when her wide eyes met his.

“Hi,” was her breathless greeting. She slowly let her hand fall down and into her lap. Her stare was unwavering, yet her voice held a certain tremor when she said: “you’re awake.”

Steve nodded, because he was not too sure on what to say. Her brown eyes, usually filled with positive emotions, were suddenly bright and sad. And Steve knew that she would say that she could not put up with this. That she had to let him go. Because what kind of boyfriend was he if he was worrying her like this? He knew he was alright, but he had not been alright between the battle when he’d gotten injured and now. And he knew that he would not always be alright. That there would be more nights and days spent in hospitals, and that maybe one day he would not come back to her. She could not possibly want this for the rest of her life.

There was a long moment of silence, where Charlotte looked at him and he looked at her, but none spoke. Then she did-

“I put on the news after you left. They were on the scene the whole time, filming you guys. I saw when you fell. When that thing plunged that long pointy thing into you. And I saw you blank out. And then they were hauling you into a stretcher and into a black van, and the reporters were saying that it looked like you weren’t breathing, and that there was so much blood that you could potentially be dead before they even got you to a doctor. I…I didn’t know what to do. I called Tony, but, well, it’s not like I have his personal phone number so they just kept taking my messages. And...” He saw as she took a shuddering breath to calm herself, “the news kept saying that you were probably dead. And your teammates weren’t being seen out in public, so no one was making a statement on your progress. It was Tony that came out two days later to say that you were recuperating.

“I finally got a hold of Tony. I stayed outside his tower until I saw him come in and had to shout for him to see me, but he did, and he was enraged when he found out SHIELD hadn’t told me about you. He yelled at a lot of people to get them to let me see you because SHIELD refused to let a civilian into their hospital…”

The first tear fell down her cheek and Steve watched it streak down her cheek in frozen silence. “I thought you were dead.” She mumbled brokenly, and then she was sobbing, deep breaths that caught in her throat and Steve was able to move again.

Against the protest of the pain, he gently guided her so that she sat on the bed with him. He tucked her head underneath his head, one hand tangled in her hair while the other enveloped her from behind. Her hands bunched up against his hospital gown, holding herself against him as sobs shook her body. And all Steve could say was a constant mantra of, “I’m sorry,” whispered into her hair.

It took a while for her to stop the shuddering sobs, and a few more moments for those to turn into shuddering breaths against the hallow of his neck, where she had nuzzled into when the sobs had subsided. “I was scared.” She mumbled into his neck.

Steve pulled her closer, their bodies as melded together as possible give their positions in the hospital bed. “I’m sorry,” was all he was able to say, because he honestly did not know what to tell her. He knew telling her that this would not happen again would be a lie, and he refused to lie to her. Getting injured was part of the job, almost an expected occurrence, really, so how could he promise to never make her be scared again if he knew it would be an empty promise?

Suddenly, Charlotte let go of her firm grip on his gown, her tired eyes meeting his in earnest. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. I chose to date you even when I knew that this could happen. I just… it all took me by surprise. If anything, I think it was the media saying that you were probably dead, and the lack of contact with anyone that knew about you that had me terrified. That, and the realization that I hadn’t told you that I love you… that I’ve been past liking you a long time ago, and have been in love with you for a while now but have been unable to say it out loud for fear of scaring you off.” She smiled and cut him off when he opened his mouth to respond. “You don’t have to say it. I know-“

And he cut her off with a searing kiss, because, really, he loved her too, since that fateful seventh date, and he felt like a fool for not telling her before. He stopped to mumble, “I love you,” against her lips before kissing her again.

And soon she was laughing against his lips, and he could do nothing but join her, against the protest of the stitches on his side. “We really need to brush our teeth.” She told him with a brilliant grin.

“I don’t know, I have an excuse. What’s yours?” Steve teased because they’d known each other long enough, and they were in a relationship, and, darn it, they were in love.

Charlotte groaned but smiled nonetheless. “I brushed them this morning, I swear! It’s just I fell asleep and well, if we’re planning on keeping this up, you’re going to have to eventually get used to the dog breath every morning.”

Steve should have turned red and stumble with his words at the implications behind her words, but he couldn’t. He really was looking forward to morning breath if it meant it’d be Charlotte he was waking up next to. “I look forward to it, then.”

Charlotte smiled shyly at this, her cheeks, which had looked pale in her sleep, gained some redness at his statement. It really amazed Steve how she could be brash about some things, say things that were ‘awkward,’ as she put it, without even batting an eyelash, yet she would flush a pretty pink when he would turn the tables. It was adorable, Steve could admit.

“So…um, should I get a doctor, or something? You’re not in pain, are you? I’m sorry, I was so caught up in sobbing like a child that I totally forgot about your injury.”

“I’m alright. I don’t think I need-”

“And he’s awake! And on the third day, he shall rise! Yes, no? That’s what the book says, right?” Tony burst through the door in his typical fashion, a tablet in one hand while the other held a vase overflowing with yellow roses, a ‘Get Well,’ card pinned to the glass.

“He was out for five days, Stark,” Natasha deadpanned as she entered the room after Tony, a stack of magazines in her hands. 

“We come bearing gifts, my friend!” And that was Thor, who had joined them for the time being, it seemed. Nestle between his arms and chest were an assortment of bending machine snack bags. “My apologies, for the Man of Iron forgot to mention we were bringing gifts. I am afraid I only have these to share for the time being.”

“It’s like the three magi,” Charlotte said and Steve chuckled.

“Oh, come on! I welcome you back with a reference that I knew you would definitely get and you don’t even blink!” Tony groaned. “Honestly, that’s very ungrateful of you.”

“I understood it, Tony, although I’m not entirely sure you phrased it well. Thank you, though,” Steve smiled again. 

“Did he do the Bible reference? He’s been practicing that for the last three days, even when we told him you wouldn’t think it hilarious,” Clint said as he came into the room, a paper bag full of what smelled like burgers in his hands, and Steve was suddenly aware of how hungry he was.

“We missed it?” Bruce piped, a tray of hospital food with him. He made his way over to Steve, “Eat this before you eat the burgers.” He instructed, placing the tray of pathetically colorless food on his lap when Charlotte stood from his side on the bed. Steve almost frowned at the loss of warmth, but Charlotte patted his knee in acknowledgment as she made towards Tony to take the vase from him.

“The cheesy flowers are for Cap. Tablet’s for you, though. I expect you to throw away that thing I saw you using the other day,” Steve heard Tony tell Charlotte, and he smiled. That was Tony accepting people, Pepper had once told him. Apparently, insulting technology that did not have Stark’s name printed on it, and a gift of actual Stark technology was Tony’s warped way of accepting a friendship. 

“It’s a Sanders tablet, for your information. And it’s very reliable, sometimes. You just didn’t catch it on a good day,” Charlotte replied, not taking the outstretched tablet.

“Oh, please. First of all, I’m pretty sure it’s the oldest model the company even has out. Actually, no, I’m 100 percent sure that they don’t even make such outdated technology anymore. Secondly, the thing needs wi-fi to even perform the most basic functions, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure I caught it on a fairly decent day considering that all of SHIELD’s technology is provided by Stark Industries, so the wi-fi was certainly perfect at the time. And thirdly, I will gladly accept your gratitude for my kind gesture. So, you’re welcome.”

Charlotte’s brown eyes narrowed, “I’ve just dropped it a few times. It’s why it’s slow to begin with. Also, I bought it with three years’ worth of savings when I was in high school, and I’d rather not part with something that is still functioning and that took such a long time for me to obtain,” here, Steve could see her eyes softening, “ But thanks, anyway. It was very kind of you.” Her words sounded sincere. 

Steve understood what she was saying. In the months that he had known her, he’d come to realize that she was very appreciative of what she had. Her laptop, for example, had a crack on the edge of the screen, made a dangerous wheeze when turned on, and had to be rebooted at least once a week because of a virus. Yet Charlotte refused to part with it because she had worked every single day after school, and every weekend her senior year in high school as well as the summer after in order to pay for it. Her present resources did not leave much money for a new laptop, either, and she’d told him that her parents were already having problems getting her brothers supplies for the school year to begin with, so she would not ask for help. When he’d arrived at her apartment with the laptop Tony had given him a while back and that he did not particularly use, she’d frowned and turned it away, saying that she would manage with Magnus (her laptop’s name) for the time being. He would have insisted she take it had he not seen the offended look in her eyes. 

Tony scoffed and Steve almost stopped him before he said, “Three years’ worth of savings and that’s all you could get? Not even one of those fruity tablets?”   
Tony scoffed, but pushed the tablet into her hands, “Take it. Seriously." Charlotte’s chin was tense, and her eyes were narrowed once more, and Steve knew that was her mad face. 

“I said, no thank you. You’ve helped me enough with Steve, and I can’t even begin to imagine how I’m going to repay you for that. I can’t take the tablet. Seriously.” She pushed the tablet away from her and towards Tony once more.

“Tony, drop it.” Bruce interjected when he saw Tony open his mouth to object. “Obviously, you’re both stubborn and no one is going to win the argument. Charlotte, just take the tablet. It’s Tony’s stupid and confusing way of saying he likes you and you’re friends now. Tony, stop criticizing.”

There was a long pause in which everyone stared at the Tony and Charlotte. It was a tense few seconds before Charlotte’s posture seemed to deflate and she sent Steve a quick look. He gave her a small smile and a raised eyebrow, to which she responded with a sigh and a small smile of her own. 

“Thank you,” She took the tablet from Tony with a sincere smile. “But I’m not throwing the other one away. I can think of people that would kill to have my crappy old Sanders.”

“Maybe a museum.” Tony snorted but without real malice.

“Maybe.” And then Charlotte was sporting a small smirk, her eyes teasing, “So, we’re friends now?”

“As if.” Tony responded, but smiled anyway. 

That’s when Steve remembered that he had not properly introduced her to Thor and Clint before. Or anyone, really, since in the five months that they’d been in a relationship he had not properly introduced them to his teammates. It wasn’t because he didn’t think they had anything serious going on. It was really just that he was scared of introducing her to Captain America’s life and putting her in potential danger. The least she knew about his alter ego, the better her chances of not getting involved were. But he supposed his present injury proved his plan to be wrong. If he had only introduced her properly to his teammates, than maybe she would have been the first contacted of his injury, and she would not have had to go through what she did in order to get to his bedside. So he cut into the middle of the conversation Tony and Charlotte had sprouted about some of the functions of the tablet.

“I don’t think I’ve properly introduced Charlotte to everyone, so-”

“We’re way past that, Captain. We’ve had three days to interact.” Clint grinned, handing him a burger wrapped in plastic. “Kind of disappointed we hadn’t met her before. What, are we embarrassing you now?”

Charlotte chuckled. “I think it’s me he’s more embarrassed of. I even embarrass myself at least once a day, and most of those moments happen in his presence.”

Tony quickly responded, “That’s sad, Cap, even I know that’s not how to treat a lady. Not letting her meet the teammates just because she’s embarrassing-”

“So sad, Steve. I’m hurt, really, I thought I was your girl-”

“Gosh, Cap, I think Charlotte’s gonna cry-” Tony turned to Charlotte, “I think you should cry.”

“Oh, I’m getting there.”

Steve groaned. “You’re my girl! You’re supposed to take my side.” But Steve was just glad and happy that they all seemed to get along. He was relieved, too, that Charlotte seemed to fit right in with the group; especially with Tony, whom he knew she had had only a few, but very rocky, interactions with. “You two should not have ever met.”

“’Cause I’m embarrassing, right?”


	4. Mess is Mine

The thing about Charlotte's confidence, Steve soon found out, was that it was subtle. So, subtle, in fact, that one look at Charlotte, and one could say she was the type of girl that faded into the background and tried to stay there. Except that Steve knew better because he came to realize that she wasn't the wallflower that one look gave, but rather the light in a room full of dull people. And given the situation, her confidence could rival Tony Stark's-in its own subtle way. 

She didn't flaunt. Really, she preferred to watch others instead of being the center of attention. But she could hold the attention of people if the situation dictated. Steve knew this, since his attention seemed to always be hers when she was in the same room as his. Her voice carried, not the sort of voice like Thor's, which was inevitable to hear even if one was not in the same room as the prince, but loud enough to carry its weight, and always laced with the tone that the situation dictated. 

And she was charming. Steve knew it, since he’d seen Tony Stark lay on the thick charm more than once. Charlotte’s charm didn’t scream self-confidence like Tony’s, but, rather, hers was the kind that made people like her, the kind that made her adapt to the situation and to the people almost flawlessly. She was likeable.

Yet, there was something sharp in her personality that contrasted greatly with the sweetness she seemed to radiate at times. There was nothing naïve about Charlotte, Steve found out soon into their relationship, even when she might seem like she was at times. She was good at calmly taking charge of a situation, seemingly undisturbed by things that should have otherwise disturbed her (i.e. finding out Steve was Captain America) in a manner that could only be described as naïve. Her eyes told another story, though.

She had the brownest of eyes. Not black, just a plain brown, with no beautiful ambers or chocolates in between. Yet they were always alight; bright and holding the key to Charlotte’s sharpness. Steve had been stumped when she’d barely taken a breath before she’d declared it ok that Steve was Captain America. There had not really been any questions, nor any need of proof, for his word alone seem to stand. She’d just smiled, steeled herself, and declared it ok. Yet the dilated pupils and darkening of the brown in her eyes told him that she was not going to take things lightly.

And she didn’t. At least, not in the typical way that people involved in relationships with people that laid their life on the line everyday should. Charlotte never seemed to take Steve’s lack of spare time to heart. She was alright with cancelled dates, and demanded nothing to make up for them. She’d just sigh in a relieved kind of way when she’d get to hear or see him again after his missions, and they would move on from there as if Steve hadn’t just come out of a battlefield and she hadn’t sat in her apartment watching videos online when she should have been with her boyfriend. Her eyes told him she understood, and that it was alright. 

“You’re not dead. It’s ok, really. I always have homework to deal with, anyway,” she’d say with a smile when he would try to apologize for leaving once he got back. And even during that spare time, in between missions and unexpected villains, she’d only sigh when he’d try to take her out, and say with a gentle smile and a tug on his hand, “you’re tired, Steve. We can pop in a movie, come on,” and they’d end up sprawled on her beat up couch, her roommates sometimes joining them on the floor. 

And then there was the fire in her eyes. The one that Steve saw when she was angry, or determined (which he soon found out went hand in hand when dealing with Charlotte), and the look in her eyes he loved the most. The one she had given him first when he’d tried to give him his laptop. She was independent, she’d let him know, and refused to take the laptop. Steve had been half tempted to argue and tell her her independence had nothing to do with receiving his help, but had decided against it for the sake of not having their first argument. Except that, maybe he should have argued, instead of letting every single time she’d declare her independence and refuse his help bother him until it became a problem.

It was the beginning of May and he was on medical leave. Although the serum certainly helped speed up the process of healing, the stab wound he had received had been of the alien kind, and fatal had his body not been in top shape and enhanced like his was. So, he was forced into a month long leave, which was alright with him, really, since Charlotte’s graduation fell during that month and he refused to miss that. 

The day of her graduation, he’d picked her up for an early breakfast, after which they had pick up her parents from JFK airport and then made their way to Yankee Stadium for the actual ceremony. Charlotte had been uncharacteristically silent that morning. He’d asked her what was wrong, but she’d only smiled faintly and told him she was just nervous for her parents. It was the first time Steve would meet them, and he thought it strange that she was nervous now when she’d only been excited a week before when she found out her parents would be able to make it to see her graduate. 

“And you get to meet them, Steve! They’ll love you, I can already tell!” She’d exclaimed with a beaming smile and Steve could only smile back at seeing her so happy.

Meeting the parents wasn’t as nerve-wracking as Steve thought it would be. It turned out her parents were as easy-going as Charlotte, her mother all gentle smiles, and her dad all teasing remarks and bear hugs. Steve only smiled and politely introduced himself, watching his girlfriend remark on her father’s ‘pregnant’ belly, and her mother’s new hair color. Through it all, though, Steve knew Charlotte wasn’t as excited as she should have been, because even if her smiles were all genuine and bright, her eyes would turn sad when she thought no one was watching. 

The whole day from there on went in much the same manner, all smiles, and corny jokes with her dad, while her eyes would suddenly turn sad. That night, her parents insisted Charlotte go out alone with Steve, saying they would be fine and that they wanted to explore on their own. 

That was how Steve and Charlotte ended up walking through Central Park as the sun went down, the heels she had worn that whole day in one hand, and a pair of bright orange flip flops she had bought in a corner store on her feet, clashing against the purple dress she was wearing. They walked in silence for a while, hand in hand, until Steve bumped his shoulders to hers. She smiled and looked at him briefly before going back to staring at the ground.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” Steve asked, squeezing her hand a little tighter in his.

“Nothing’s wrong. You’ve asked like a hundred times today, and I’ve told you, a hundred times, that I’m alright.” She answered, and, well, yes, it was a bit snappy, Steve realized. 

He back-pedaled, “you’ve just be quieter than usual, is all,” he said because he knew accusing her would only make matters worse.

“Well, I don’t talk all the time, contrary to popular belief,” she mumbled, but he caught it.

Steve took a moment to think of how to get her to talk, but everything he could think of seemed to end up in Charlotte turning snappier, and he didn’t want a fight.

“I know you don’t. All I’m saying is that your parents are here and you were excited last week. You graduated today, Charlotte, I thought you’d be a little happier.” And, nope, he just butchered it all, he knew.

“Well, excuse me for not jumping up in joy and yelling like a six year old, Steven.” She snapped, yanking her hand from his.

Steve should’ve been confused, except that she’d called him Steven, and he knew that didn’t mean anything positive to how their conversation was turning out. 

He frowned.

“Hey, there. I didn’t mean anything bad. All I’m saying is that I am here for you to lean on if you need it.”

Charlotte stopped walking and turned to him, making him stop as well. Her eyes were on fire-accusing-and her nose was subtly scrunched. 

“I’m fine.” She spit out. “I can take care of myself, I don’t-” she cut off what she would say next, taking a step back and pursing her lips, but Steve had a good idea that what she would say would entail her saying that she did not need him in particular.

Steve could have very well dropped it there and apologize. She would sigh and smile her sad, tired smile, and tell him not to apologize, and it would all be fine. 

Only, it wasn’t, and he was done putting up with a Charlotte that refused his help.

“You know, I get it. I know that you’re independent-you make sure I do almost every single day-but would it hurt you to depend on me for just one second? You don’t have to take on everything alone. I’m here for you to come to, and I would it would be nice to know that my girlfriend trusted in me from time to time.” 

And, ok, yes, he was snappy now, too.

Charlotte stared at him for what could have been minutes, looking him straight in the eyes with a clenched jaw. Steve stared right back, refusing to yield. He knew they needed to talk about this before it became an even bigger problem than it already was. He wouldn’t talk, though, before she did, and he knew her staring and refusal to talk was her way of thinking things through. Because, while Charlotte’s mouth sometimes spewed out things before her brain clicked, she had the uncanny ability to remain calm and think things through in situations that should have made her feel cornered, and induced a panicked spilling of words. So she was thinking, and Steve would let her.

There was a bench a few feet away from where they had stopped to argue and he say her eyes briefly zero in on it before she slowly walked towards it and sat down, hunched over and looking at her toes. Steve took a deep breath, bracing himself, and sat next to her, making sure not to touch her. While they had never really argued, he knew angry Charlotte liked space, so he would give it to her. They sat for about ten minutes, in silence, Steve not willing to break the silence when he knew it was her that needed to explain herself.

And then she started speaking to her toes in a thick, almost broken voice that told Steve she was on the brink of crying.

“I got an e-mail last night from Columbia. You know how I was going to start Law School in the fall there with the scholarship they had awarded me with? They’re so rare, since there’s almost never any funding for it, but they had the money this year and they gave it to me. You know how I spent a whole month writing essays and getting recommendations from professors…anyway, I got an e-mail last night saying that the funding had to be deferred towards something or other-I don’t remember what-so that I now have to pay out of pocket.” Charlotte took a deep breath then, and sat up straighter, her gaze in the distance now, still not meeting his eyes. “Which, I guess, I could have lived with, if I were able to take out loans. But I can’t because, even with my scholarships, I still had to take some out for NYU, and I know my parents can’t help there because I was the one who helped them take out the ones they needed for my brothers, so they’re maxed out.” She shrugged, “So, yeah.”

The action was casual, and the finality of her speech was as well, except that Steve could hear the thickness in her voice, and the way she was trying to subtly hide the trail of tears falling down her cheeks. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to comfort her, and maybe get a cue from her saying that it was alright if he enveloped her in his arms. She cut him off before he could.

“And I do trust you. A lot, actually; I’ve just been sort of trying to figure what I’m going to do with myself now. I’m a little lost, kind of scared, and I guess it doesn’t help that I’m bad at being dependent on people. You should ask my parents, they used to hate how I’ve always done everything by myself, until they realized they could do nothing to change that and began to just silently go along with whatever I do.”

“I’m not your parents, though. I don’t think I’d be able to stand silently when I could be doing something to help. Charlotte, I don’t mind shouldering your problems from time to time. I’m not asking you to drop everything and depend on me financially, or physically, or whatever other way of dependency there is. All I’m saying is that it’d be my absolute pleasure if you’d let me know what is going on with you once in a while.” Steve slid over to be closer to her, taking her hand from her lap and encasing it in one of his. “I have pretty broad shoulders, if you’re ever afraid your load is too heavy. I think I can take it.”

And, suddenly, the tension was broken with Charlotte’s watery laugh. “Alright,” she said, and she leaned against him, her head against his shoulder, so he brought his arm around her, pulling her closer, and planting a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“You know I can help with that,” he mumbled against her hair.

“And you know I won’t let you,” she mumbled back.

He shrugged the shoulder that was unoccupied, and said, “what’s mine is yours,” with a sort of finality that left no arguments. Except there were multiple arguments against that, their lack of marriage being the biggest one, yet Steve didn’t think it was such a big deal. Sure, they hadn’t been in a relationship for long, and perhaps he was jumping the gun on this one, but he loved Charlotte. And Charlotte loved him. 

Quite frankly, he didn’t think his feelings for her could be summed up with a word like girlfriend. The word made Steve think that being with Charlotte was going to be temporary that they might move on at any second and while he knew she wasn’t perfect and he was far from even being normal to begin with, she was good for him, and he liked to think he was good for her. So, would it really be too far-fetched to think that he wanted to marry her? Maybe in this era it might be too soon, and, well, yes, it might have been too soon in the 40’s as well, but he was so sure she was the one. 

“That’s what you say when you’re married, Steve,” she said back, and he could hear the smile on her face.

He took a second to answer. He could agree and move on like he hadn’t just implied marriage. Or he could let her know of his intentions. That’s what any good gentleman did, his mother always told him. A lady must never be strung along, and he realized that he needed to let Charlotte know that he was in this relationship for the long run. Somehow, he knew the ‘I love you’s’ he said and the flowers he liked to get her were enough. Because, while she never complained, and while it was so easy to get her to smile and to make her happy. He needed her to know that he looked forward to doing much more than he was already doing. And that including being hers for the rest of their lives.

So he made up his mind, and kept his confession light.

“I haven’t asked you to marry me yet? A dame like you, you’d think you’d been stolen by a lucky guy already. I must be some kind of fool.” He said with a smile, and grinned when he heard Charlotte’s intake of breath. Even though he wasn’t too sure why he suddenly felt like saying it, nor why his brain and heart finally coordinated while they were seated in a filthy park bench right after their first big fight, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Because, really, he had been Charlotte’s since the very beginning, and marriage seemed like the next logical step.

She quickly dislodged herself from his embrace and turned big, wide brown eyes at him. The tears had stopped, but there were mascara trails along her face, and her eyes were rimmed in red. And yet, she was still the most beautiful woman Steve had met.

It took a moment, but, true to her nature, Charlotte went along with it and grinned mischievously. “Why, no, you haven’t. I have had other suitors in the past, but none like yourself, Sir.”

“We’ll have to change that, then.” He declared with finality in his voice, and the biggest smile Steve ever remembered giving. 

Charlotte laughed and stood up, offering her hand to help him stand up. “Alright, Romeo. I think it’s getting late and you’re just trying to seduce me after our spat. Don’t think I forgot about your injury.”

He took her hand, and pulled her to him so that she stumbled. He quickly grabbed the back of her knees so that she fell into his other arm. She yelped, closing her eyes, and swatted at him when he had her settled into his lap. “I hate it when you do that.” She grumbled.

Steve smiled, but quickly turned serious. They stared into each other’s’ eyes for a little while before he quickly stole a kiss. “I’m serious, though. I want to marry you.”

“Ok.” Charlotte responded simply, before leaning to kiss him. 

He broke the kiss, and mumbled into her lips. “There’ll be a ring and a big surprise proposal. You won’t even see it coming.”

Charlotte frowned a little, pulling away from him and cupping his cheeks with both of her hands. “I don’t need all that.”

Steve shrugged, and did the half-smile that she had once told him made her feel weird-“but good weird!”-things. “Humor me.” He simply said. “I’m old-fashioned. The kind that gets rings and asks parents and brings flowers home. The whole thing, but only because you make me corny. Good corny.”

Charlotte snorted a laugh, a move so unladylike, a move that Steve didn’t really know ladies-the dames-even knew how to do until he met Charlotte. In fact, the first time she’d snorted in his presence, he’d been a little flabbergasted. He’d recovered soon enough, and had immediately decided that it was endearing and that it somehow fitted Charlotte.

“God, I’d love to see you asking my parents. I can almost hear my dad give you a speech on feminism and how I’m not property.”

Steve shrugged, unfazed since he’d already met the man and could picture that particular conversation going exactly that way. “Then I’ll let him know I wish to marry you, if you agree…you do want to marry me, right? I’ve just been going on, assuming that you want to marry me too. It’s fine if you don’t. Honestly, if you think it’s too fast you can just-“

Charlotte’s laugh cut his nervous rant abruptly. “I do want to marry you, Steve.”

“Alright.” He said before he attacked her face and jaw and neck with kisses, Charlotte breathing a soft, “Ok,” while she giggled softly.


	5. Burning Bridges

Steve woke up with hair tickling his nose, and a comforting, warm weight against his side. His legs were tangled with smooth, long ones, and one of his arms was completely numb, supporting Charlotte’s neck.

Charlotte was breathing deeply, with a few sighs in between. She was still asleep, but that was expected. Steve had come to realize that she lacked any sort of internal clock, and that she could sleep through the day without noticing.

She was a contrast to him, a soldier who had been drilled into being up way before the sun even came up so that he could get in a jog and some kind of work out before eating breakfast and beginning his day. Charlotte would set three alarms on her phone, all of them more or less one hour before she actually had to get up. Steve was sort of amazed to discover that she would sleep through the first shrill cry of the alarm, toss on the second alarm, before she would disarm the last one. 

She had a routine after that, too. She would sleep a few more minutes, before groaning loudly, and tossing the covers off of her. She’d then sleep a few more minutes before she began shivering with cold, at which point she’d lay on her back staring blankly at the ceiling for another few minutes. It was not until she had twenty minutes to spare before she had to leave the house for either school or work that she’d suddenly jump out of bed, scrambling, rushing around trying to make herself presentable. She’d rush out the door with three-it was always three-minutes to spare, completely forgoing breakfast.

That had been their separate routines, before they’d began to occasionally sleep over together at her place (never Steve’s place. He didn’t want her at Avengers’ Tower with Tony’s knowing smirks and lewd remarks). The first few times were filled with blushes, but always with a broken schedule on his part since, even with the blushing and bashfulness, he still looked forward to waking up with Charlotte. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, or anything of the sort, because, really, waking up next to Charlotte gave him the feeling of belonging and home. No, it wasn’t that. It was just that, well, he was from a time where boyfriends and girlfriends did not share a bed before marriage.

Sure, Bucky always seemed to find the girls that shared their beds before marriage quite easily, but not everyone was like that. Maybe it was that Steve lacked any skills or looks back then to draw the ladies like his best friend had, but he didn’t think serious relationships worked like Bucky’s flings did. And, yes, there were a lot of shotgun weddings back then because of unexpected pregnancies, but there was always such taboo about it, that Steve had never considered being intimate with a girl before marriage.

No, that was only half the truth. He had been a man back then, too. Maybe he was smaller than most men-than most women, really-and was sick all the time, but he had been a male back then still, with male parts and male urges. He was also a soldier, and Tony could call him a prude all he wanted, but Steve knew the thoughts of a lonely man that had seen too much and lacked a woman’s touch. He knew about pin-ups (he’d even had some) and show girls (even if he could never really make himself agree to the invitations) and much too much details about a woman’s anatomy and where to touch exactly-men talked about things like that when angsty. 

Yet, even with the blunt solicitations of the show girls he travelled with, and the many opportunities he had been given to visit brothels with his men, he had never let himself do anything of the sort. It had been tempting, always, but the back of his mind reminded him that he should be committed to a dame, and one dame alone for anything like that to work. Back then, it had been Peggy, but that hadn’t worked. Charlotte took his today, and that was working. 

Steve always pictured being intimate with a woman he would call wife. Perhaps he would be alright with making love to and with a woman who he was committed to; the kind of commitment that involved meeting the parents, flowers and sincere ‘I love you’s’ already exchanged.

That wasn’t how it happened with Charlotte. 

It was before the battle that had landed him in the hospital and Charlotte had confessed-finally-her love for him. 

Steve and Charlotte had been in a relationship for the past four or so months when the Avengers had been called to the middle of Kentucky to deal with a madman that had somehow learned how to create portals. Except, he didn’t quite know how to control the seven portals he had created, and creatures that even Thor had trouble placing were quickly coming out, all big and horrendous. 

The beginning of the fighting had been contained and fine, with Tony’s obnoxious commentary through the comms link tolerable enough that Steve only yelled at him twice in an hour. Bruce hadn’t been needed before that. 

It all went downhill fast after that. The van where SHIELD had Bruce sheltered in had been thrown carelessly through the air by a giant creature that had escaped the confines of the parameter the rest of the Avengers had kept until then. The Hulk had come out quickly after that, and chaos reigned from then on. Thor, like many other times, had fried his comm link when he began summoning lightning, while Clint quickly ran out of arrows and was resorting to shooting guns and anything sharp in his person. He was still calling out to his teammates from above a windmill near one of the portals, while Tony tried desperately to find a way of closing the portals. Natasha was out of ammo, and was fighting with her fists and killer thighs (as Tony eloquently put it), while Steve tried to come up with some sort of way of getting more help.

And then Phil Coulson was ordering all SHIELD personnel to arm themselves, and Steve could only watch in horror as no less than a hundred men (human men and women without serums or titanium suites or specialty weapons) began pouring into the parameter. 

It was another hour or so before Tony, along with a SHIELD agent that knew a bit about astrophysics, dismantled the machine that created the portals. The portals fell easily enough, disintegrated in front of their eyes, in fact, but, unlike the Chitauri they had fought in New York, these aliens were still alive and fighting. 

It would have been fine, the battle and portals and time and even the bruises, but Steve was horrified when they had killed the last of the aliens only to look around-really look around-and see the bodies of SHIELD agents scattered among the alien parts. There were only a few of those agents ordered to fight left standing, all looking lost and injured, and Steve could do nothing but clench his fists and jaw.

Even Tony Stark, the man that always had a quip about everything, was solemn when he joined Steve’s side. They had then surveyed the land in quite. And when Phil Coulson and Maria Hill joined his side, Steve yelled.

He yelled about murder, and everything that was wrong with SHIELD. He yelled about fragility and how he had it handled, how he was appalled, and horrified with Coulson’s behavior. How he was now responsible for the death of dozens of SHIELD agents because they had become his men and his charge the minute they had stepped into his parameter. 

Coulson and Hill took it all with hard faces, unwavering, if not a little guiltily staring, and said nothing as Steve barked orders, going as far as threatening Hill if she did not have the Quinjet ready within the next few minutes. 

The Quinjet had not been for him. He’d ordered anyone left alive on it, and even Natasha, the one that even Steve felt trepidation towards ordering sometimes, silently boarded the aircraft, holding onto a limping Clint. The only one stupid enough to stay had been Tony, who had let Steve yell some more about irresponsibility and insubordination before the engineer flipped him off and told him to get over himself. 

Steve and Tony ended up staying to supervise the body count along with Coulson, and had boarded another Quinjet full of body bags back to New York later on that night.

Once in the city, Steve forgot how to think, and rode out of headquarters in his uniform still, grime and blood and slime still covering him. 

He began thinking again when Charlotte opened the door to the little apartment her and her two roommates shared. It was one in the morning, but Charlotte looked awake enough. She was wearing and NYU t-shirt and a pair of spandex shorts, her hair in a wet ponytail. She was devoid of make-up, staring at him with huge, naked eyes.

“You’re alive,” she said, her eyes searching his.

He found himself suddenly sagging, and she caught his heavy form with a huff as he half-sobbed a shuddering, “yeah.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she muttered against his cheek, laying a soft kiss to the salty and dirty skin of his cheek before she half dragged him to the bathroom.

He felt numb, like everything was weighing his down as she sat him on the toilet bowl with the lid closed, and began unbuckling Kevlar and under armor from his upper torso. He watched her as she worked his clothes off, not even being able to bring himself to help or even protest when she hefted him up and started unbuckling and unzipping his pants. 

Steve knew he should have felt embarrassed, should have covered himself when he was completely naked in front of her, but he was still numb. She turned to turn on the water on the shower stall, and then she was undressing herself. Steve knew he should have felt something then and there, but he was still so numb, and he felt like he was under the ice again.

He woke up a little when she pushed him into the shower stall where the water streaming down was scalding hot and creating steam around him. She went in after him, and, with little strength that he felt was not his own, he managed to stand upright under the flowing water, his arms bracing himself against the wall in front of him, encasing Charlotte between himself, the wall, and his arms.

She began to wash him slowly, scrubbing away dirt and alien blood with a soapy purple loofa that smelled like grapefruit. He thinks that’s what woke him up, the familiar smell of grapefruit that seemed to follow her, because he was suddenly hugging her close, his face buried in her neck while his body trembled with muffled, tear-less sobs. 

She held him tight, then, and let him sob against her, his body shaking as he held her even closer. She said nothing, and held him for a few minutes before she began moving again, running honey scented shampoo (her hair always smelt of honey) through his hair, and giving him another scrub down with grapefruit body wash. He let he do everything, then, his sobs dying off quickly enough, and returned to just watching her, his arms loosely holding her waist as she cleaned him. When she was done with him, she ran the loofa through the water until it was purple clean again and quickly scrubbed herself of whatever grime Steve had transferred onto her.

When she shut off the water, they stood looking at each other for a few seconds before she ran her fingers through his hair tenderly. He shuddered and leaned into her touch. She smiled, and moved to get out.

“I’ll see if Jay has any clothes you can borrow,” she said as she wrapped a towel around herself and walked off, but not before handing him another towel to dry off with. 

Jay was one of her roommates. When Steve had first discovered that Charlotte was living with another man, he’d been a little affronted, if not jealous, but Charlotte had merely rolled her eyes with a smile when he’d tried to casually bring up Jay in a conversation about her past beaus (which only consisted of a bad prom date, and an attempted relationship with a guy that had gotten too handsy on the third date). She had explained that Jay was just a friend, the kind that paid his rent on time and did his own dishes, and that Steve was not allowed to get jealous. So he didn’t-at least not in front of her.

She came back wearing a form fitting tank top and a pair of purple panties. Steve had gotten himself dried off at that point, and had swallowed uneasily when she’d walked in, handing him the clothes, and putting his uniform in a black garbage bag. 

He met her back in her room, where she was sitting on the edge of her twin size bed, staring at the ground. When she heard him approach, she looked up, smiling gently at him and taking his hand. He sat beside her, and it was as if everything in him was suddenly aware, like every cell in his body had jumped-started even when he had not slept in over 48 hours.

He remembered kissing her roughly, hungrily, to remind himself that he was alive and she was alive and that he hadn’t just been responsible for the destruction of dozens of lives. And it wasn’t awkward. Not in the fumbling and uncoordinated way that he had imagined making love to Charlotte for the first time would be like. It was steady and precise, seeming like he had known her his whole life, like they’d done this millions of times.

And it was scorching heat, and eye-opening, and passionate, and everything he had and hadn’t been hoping for.

That morning, even with only a couple of hours of sleep in him, his body jerked awake at around seven that morning, a late start even for himself, but he found himself pinned to the bed. It took a bit to remember what had happened before he was suddenly blushing to himself, and becoming painfully aware of the state of undress of the unconscious Charlotte on top of him. 

The bed was small enough for just him, and he remembered lifting her on top of him amid her weak protests, and holding her close against him before he found a forgotten blanket on the floor to tuck around them.

He could feel her cheek against his chest, her left hand clutching at his right bicep, her whole right arm dangling off the bed. Her hair, now dry and alive, was tickling his face, the thick curls moving with every breath he took. He couldn’t bring himself to move, though, as his left arm was curled around her waist, with his right arm entrapped by the wall and her hand. 

So he’d laid there until her phone came awake with a shrill cry at 7:30 am. He’d moved to turn it off, but let it go to instead wait in astonishment as Charlotte didn’t even flinch. The next alarm went off at 7:45 am, and he made no move to turn it off, waiting to see what would happen. Charlotte merely mumbled something that sounded like his name, turning her face away from the shrill cry of the alarm before she settled again. He’d smiled goofily to himself when he heard her mumble his name under her breath and waited to see what the next alarm would bring from her. 

It turned out the next one consisted of her volunteeringly making herself cold, and in the process chilling Steve with her. But he allowed the blanket to hit the floor with a wince, his mind trying to comprehend how in the world the girl on top of him had not noticed it wasn’t just her in bed. Mostly, he was amazed at her resistance to getting up. She slept on for a few more minutes before she slowly came to, shivering slightly against him and making him blush all over again.

She had groaned a little then, before she froze and lifted her face to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” she said, looking at him before blushing to the roots of her hair, the color blooming along her collarbone and…Steve looked up.

He smiled shyly at her. “Good morning.”

There was a long pause as Steve saw Charlotte try to come up with words time and time again before she blushed even harder and looked at him. “Would it be normal to say that I am totally cool with waking up totally naked on top of you after a very…great night, but completely embarrassed that you got to see how painfully hard it is for me to wake up every morning?”

He’d laughed hard then, and she’d joined him before they calmed down and talked in bed the rest of the morning. They needed to talk, Charlotte had insisted and Steve had agreed, about what had happened that had made him come to her in the state that he had come.

Not once, that night or that day, did Steve say he loved her, nor did she, but that would come later. 

Today was different, though. She’d stayed over at the Tower with him, with no interruption since he had his own floor and it was no one’s business (and by that, Steve took it to mean Tony) whether he was intimate with his girlfriend or not. 

They had been in a physical relationship for about three months now, and he was proud to say that there was not much blushing going on anymore. They’d   
become comfortable with each other, and had created their own routine.

Steve woke up Charlotte now. He was about to start active duty again soon since he was still recovering from that alien stab the month prior, so he knew his mornings with Charlotte would become fewer. She was already teasing him, saying that she would mostly only miss the nice wake up from him, and not the dog breath. That had earned her a rather bold slap to her behind. He’d sputtered an apology when he’d realized what he’d done until Charlotte started laughing, telling him how much she loved him.

Steve didn’t go out before sunrise to jog and work-out anymore. He’d stay in bed with her until seven (she had decided that, if they were to compromise, she was willing to give up some sleep if he was willing to sleep a bit more with her), and then he’d wake her up. It didn’t always mean they’d be up right away, since   
Charlotte was cuddly in the mornings, and that often led to a whole other work-out in and of itself. 

They would then take a shower together too, as Charlotte wickedly put it, “to save water, of course,” before they’d eat breakfast together. That was another compromise she made, since she tended to skip that meal. Her roommates would sometimes join the breakfast, but Steve had found that, apart from sometimes joining them for movie nights or breakfast, her roommates, Jay and Lauren, would mostly stay to themselves. That meant no teasing, and a blushing-free environment that Steve knew the Tower would not allow. 

But today, she’d stayed at the Tower and he was already formulating plans on how to keep both of them out of the billionaire’s radar.

“Captain,” JARVIS, Tony’s AI suddenly piped up, his volume low. “Sir would like me to inform you that he is aware Ms. Owens has stayed over and would like to welcome her into the family, as he put it, at breakfast today.”

Charlotte groaned, mumbling something under her breath and burying her face into Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve felt like swearing. Of course the meddling engineer knew Charlotte was in the building with him. 

“Did you tell him, JARVIS?” Steve had to ask, suddenly feeling betrayed by the artificial voice.

“I’m afraid Sir does have access to the elevator cameras, Captain. My job was merely to inform him that you were in the building last night as he wanted to discuss a few things with you. I was told not to bother you, Captain, after Sir requested a live feed of your elevator.”

Steve almost blushed, except that he told himself that he was allowed to kiss his girlfriend all he wanted in elevators. Cameras be damned, he told himself.

Instead, Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course he watched the elevator feed,” he remarked more to himself than anybody else.

Charlotte suddenly stiffen beside him. “Please tell me there is nobody else in this room and you are merely talking to yourself.” She whispered.

Steve chuckled, pulling her flush against him. JARVIS had once informed him that no one had access to the cameras in the private quarters, not even Tony. And while he still didn’t like the idea of cameras everywhere, he knew Tony enough to know that the man respected privacy. To a degree.

“That’s just JARVIS.” He commented, kissing the top of her head briefly.

“Good morning, Ms. Owens.” The AI spoke up, making Charlotte sit up, pulling the sheets closer to herself. She looked around frantically, trying to place where the voice was coming from. 

Her eyes finally settled on Steve, questioning. “JARVIS is Tony’s AI. It takes a while to get used to him.” 

“As in Artificial Intelligence?” Charlotte asked, her mouth suddenly forming an excited grin. 

“At your service, Ms. Owens.” JARVIS supplied, sounding a bit smug. Only Tony Stark could add smugness into a computer system.

Charlotte was full on grinning now, looking more excited than Steve had ever seen before. “Charlotte’s fine…Mr. JARVIS?”

“JARVIS will suffice, Ms. Owens. I’m afraid my programing only allows for proper addressing of those within the tower.”

“That’s ok.” Charlotte responded, her grin still in place and looking at Steve as if to ask why he wasn’t as excited as she was. 

“I was more scared of him than anything in the beginning.” Steve shrugged, grinning as well because Charlotte had that power on him. 

“May I remind you again about breakfast, Captain? Sir is getting impatient, and is willing to override the code to your floor to come get you himself.” JARVIS intervened. 

“Breakfast?” Charlotte asked.

And that’s how Steve found himself willing himself not to blush as he and Charlotte stepped off the elevator onto the communal floor, where the rest of the   
Avengers and Pepper were milling around. Clint and Bruce, like most mornings, were doing the actual cooking, Pepper was checking her emails on a Stark tablet at the table, and Natasha chopped fruit expertly on the kitchen island. Thor, as usual, was drinking coffee without care of the degree of hotness to the drink, eating Oreos out of the packaging; Steve knew he’d eat all of them before breakfast was actually served. 

The only out of place picture was Tony. Usually, the man was completely zoned out at breakfast, only showing signs of life after his third cup of coffee. Today, though, the man sat on a bar stool by the kitchen island, almost buzzing with energy, his eyes quickly fixated towards Steve and Charlotte when they stepped off the elevator. The wicked grin that lit up his face was indication enough to Steve that breakfast had been a bad idea. 

“Well, good morning, there,” Tony greeted them loudly, making sure everyone turned to look at them.

“Good morning,” Charlotte replied, looking far more confident than Steve felt. God, he loved that woman.

“Great night last night, huh?” Tony asked as the couple stepped closer.

Pepper stepped up, then, glaring at Tony in a manner that told him to behave. “Pepper Potts.” She introduced herself to Charlotte, extending a hand for her to shake.

“I know…I mean, um, nice to meet you.” Charlotte blushed lightly, looking awestruck. “I-I-uh-I wrote an essay about you last year for a woman’s study class. I wasn’t able to get an interview, because, duh, why would you want to be interviewed by a college student just for a class assignment. But…I should just stop   
talking now, I know, but I am a big fan of yours.”

Pepper smiled in amusement. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Charlotte nodded, fiddling with one of the buttons of the cardigan she had borrowed from Steve.

“Well, this is just plain abnormal. Did you know she totally glared at me the first time she met me?” Tony piped up, an amused twinkle in his eyes. 

“I did not glare at you!” Charlotte protested, embarrassment forgotten.

“No one would blame you if you did, really.” Pepper said, laughing lightly.

“That’s just plain offending. Really, I thought you were on my side.” Tony mocked glared at Pepper.

The woman just smiled, “Only 12% of the time.”

Tony froze, narrowing his eyes, “still not over that, are you?”

Pepper shrugged, and turned to Charlotte. “I hope you can join us for breakfast? Bruce and Clint are cooking.”

And while breakfast was full of innuendos from Tony and quiet snickers from Clint, Steve found himself smiling like a fool more than once when he’d catch Charlotte in conversation with Bruce, or rolling her eyes at Tony’s remarks. Because, really, weird morning routines and all, Steve was in love with Charlotte, and odd, almost awkward breakfasts with his teammates, Pepper and his girlfriend were something he could find himself looking forward to.


	6. Ghosts That We Knew

Steve had nightmares. He supposed they were normal. He was a soldier, and he knew to expect them. Sure, maybe his were different from other’s, but they were nightmares nonetheless. 

They were always cold. Frighteningly cold. When he’d started sharing a bed with Charlotte those particular nightmares, the ones where, no matter how high the heater was turned up, he was always cold, had stopped. She was a warmth and comforting weight during the night, and the nightmares seemed to have disappeared altogether.

And then they came back. 

The night the first nightmare hit him was a night that Charlotte had spent at the tower with him. Charlotte had spent that whole day job hunting, only meeting up with Steve for dinner. He had been training SHIELD recruits that day, and had been pleasantly looking forward to dinner with his girlfriend after a whole day of his patience being tested. They had ended up at the small Italian restaurant where they’d had their first date, Charlotte sighing about the lack of openings and Steve quietly complaining about the lack of respect from the new recruits.

They’d gone to bed early that night, after sharing a long shower, Charlotte lazily talking about the next day’s plans, mumbling more to herself than anything. Steve had smiled drowsily at her, giving her a long kiss before they both drifted off to sleep.

And then he was wide awake, cold sweat breaking out all along his body. He’d woken up with a deep inhale of breath, quickly surveying the room before his eyes zeroed in on the body next to his. Charlotte was sleeping on her stomach, one of her arms, which had been lazily draped along his torso, now lay in his lap. She hadn’t woken up, and Steve almost smiled in amusement at her lack of senses when sleeping. 

He decided to stay in bed in hopes of calming down, except that panic over took him, the bed suddenly too soft and Charlotte’s arm on his lap feeling like dead weight. After a quick debate with himself, he disentangled his legs from Charlotte’s, quickly tucking her arm against her body.

He ended up laying on the wood flooring next to the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling in hopes of calming his nerves. He was cold, so cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to move to grab a blanket. 

It seemed like hours that he stayed looking up at the ceiling, before he felt a pair of eyes looking at him.

Charlotte was staring at him, still on the bed and on her stomach, one side of her face smooched against the side of the bed as she stared at his rigid form.

“The bed was too soft,” Steve murmured as a way of explanation.

“You’re shivering,” Charlotte mumbled in response, her eyes settling on his.

“I’m cold,” Steve sighed, staring back at the ceiling. He hadn’t planned on Charlotte seeing broken Steve Rogers ever. He supposed he had become too comfortable, thinking that his nightmares were all suddenly gone, and had not given the thought of sleeping next to Charlotte much consideration. He had been doing so great so far.

He felt Charlotte’s warm fingers grace his shoulder and he shuddered. 

He heard the rustling of the bed sheets and then the light sigh Charlotte emitted when she got off the bed. She was laying next to him on the floor within seconds, her form warm, but not touching, looking up at the ceiling like he was. Their hands were mere centimeters apart, but not touching. 

“You know I can sleep anywhere, in any position,” was the only thing Charlotte said after a minute of silence. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Steve replied, shutting his eyes for a brief second before he realized that that only made unpleasant images flash through them.

There was a long stretch of silence in which Steve thought that Charlotte had fallen asleep for sure. He was proved wrong when he heard her deep sigh, and then the sure conviction of her voice. 

“My dad was unemployed once for about two years. He lost his job when I was about nine, and my brothers were far too young to remember, kindergarten and preschool, I think. We were living in a studio apartment, all five of us, because that’s what my mom’s paycheck could afford, with my parents on a pull out couch and my brothers and I on the floor. We were so poor that I remember breaking the piggy bank my grandmother had given me a few years prior so that we could go buy a carton of milk and cereal for dinner one night. Anyway, aside from only really eating the free breakfast and lunch at school, and missing dinner for the most part, we survived…and I guess, my point is, I slept on the floor for those two years, and I can sleep on the floor tonight. And any other night that you need me to.”

Steve didn’t know what to say, suddenly overcome with the knowledge that he was truly in love with Charlotte, and even if some of the things she said sometimes seemed to be random and spewed without much thought, she always knew what to say to him. And he really, truly, loved her right in that moment more than he had in any other moment.

So he inched his hand closer to hers until he had gently taken her hand in his. “I love you,” he mumbled, because he couldn’t come up with anything else to say.

“Thanks,” she said, and there was a long silence before she chuckled and he smiled at the familiarity of it all, “sorry-I love you, too. It’s three in the morning, cut me some slack.” 

Steve chuckled lightly, his shivering slowly coming to an end, until he merely felt the memory of a chill. Still, though, Steve refused to close his eyes for sleep for fear of more vivid flashbacks of ice and crashing, coupled with newer ones of aliens and dead SHIELD members. He still held Charlotte’s hand, though, calmed by the small gesture, and Charlotte’s tact in giving him space.

It was probably an hour of the two laying together in silence before Charlotte started talking again.

“You still awake?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah,” he answered just as quietly.

“I went through a phase where I had nightmares for about three months straight, right before I started college. It was probably all that stress. Anyway, I’d wake up sobbing from them. Except they were totally stupid, and not worthy of tears. Like, I once dreamt that I was being held prisoner in North Korea because I had gone parachuting off an airplane on a vacation in Australia and had accidentally landed in North Korea. And one time, I sobbed for about an hour after dreaming that my brother was kidnapped in the middle of Mexico and the only way they would give him back was if we somehow paid them in one million dollars’ worth of chocolate bars. I don’t know, don’t ask. Anyway, my point in all of this-and there is one, it’s just that, it is four in the morning now, and my brain is talking and my mouth is having diarrhea-is that, it always helped to be surrounded by something. Like pillows. Except now I have a boyfriend-that’s you, by the way- and you have a girlfriend-that’s me-and we could totally cuddle. I’ll be the big spoon and everything.”

Steve turned to look her in the eyes, and chuckled when he caught her droopy eyed gaze. “I never get to be the big spoon,” she added.

Steve chuckled again and turned his back to her, and, in a move that was probably fueled by lack of sleep and the residual chill left in him, he said, “hold me like the river Jordan.”

“Oh my God, you did not just quote a song,” Charlotte breathed, circling an arm around him and pulling her body flush against his, her legs quickly tangling with his. “You watched Free Willy without me?”

“Thor cried like a baby,” was his only respond, her warmth instantly lulling him, thoughts of the hard ground below him gone.

Charlotte shook in silent laughter against, kissing the back of his neck and then in between his shoulder blades. “I’m going to laugh harder about this when we wake up,”

Steve hummed in agreement before he was pulled into a dreamless sleep. 

And when he woke up later that morning, stiff from laying on the floor, but without any chill, it was to Charlotte staring at him, her laughter loud as soon as he opened his eyes and met hers, and her breathless, “You quoted a Free Willy soundtrack song,” in between peals of laughter made him laugh loud as well.


	7. Always

Steve had yet to dance with Charlotte. The realization hit him one afternoon as he stood by the entryway to the small kitchenette in Charlotte’s apartment while she sang under her breath. He was smiling to himself, watching her as she swayed lightly to the beat only she could hear through the small earphones pocking out of her ears. Her voice wasn’t the most soothing, to put it nicely, and the deep baritone she was trying to imitate was not helping the cause. So he stood by the entryway, watching her while he tried to come up with a way of taking her out to dance. 

Surely, he must have taken her out to dance by then. Back in the ‘40’s, most dates consisted of dancing. In fact, he distinctly remember wanting to take a girl out dancing one day. Peggy, he realized, would have been the girl one day. But that was the past, he had to remind himself, and Charlotte was here now, and why hadn’t he taken her dancing yet? He knew he lacked skills in that department, but he could learn, they could learn together. Or perhaps Charlotte knew how to dance? He’d never seen her, not until this point, and even now, she was merely swaying. 

He was so distracted within his own mind that he did not notice when Charlotte spotted him, and only became aware when she reached for his hand, her hand slightly wet and cold, but smiling at him as she sang in the deep baritone she was trying to imitate. He smiled at her, and merely watched as she plucked one of the earphones out of her ear and stuck it into one his. He was instantly greeted by the melodic sounds of a soft, but happy blues song, the deep baritone of the singer quickly registering in his mind. He knew the song must be old, perhaps not as old as him, but old enough. 

And then Charlotte was leading him into a dance, her arms on his shoulders while his hands went immediately around her waist as if he knew what he was doing. There was not much footwork involved. In fact, they merely swayed during an interlude in the singing, Charlotte smiling up at him, while he knew his ears were burning up. 

And then, Charlotte was singing in the same baritone had been trying to imitate, and he couldn’t contain his chuckles as she serenaded him. “The days may not be fair…always…yeah, but that’s when I’ll be there, always…” 

Charlotte joined him in laughter, laughing quietly to herself, before she laid her head against the junction between his shoulder and neck, and the moment was so perfect that Steve felt breathless. This was what he had wanted since he could remember. And the situation was so imperfect but perfect. They were both in jeans, Charlotte barefooted and with a simple black t-shirt. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, some strands escaping here and there, and not a touch of make-up on her face. The music was not live, but merely there because of the headphone in his ear. He hadn’t wine and dined her before dancing, and he hadn’t asked her to dance like he should have. This was not a date, he was merely coming over to see if she was free for dinner, and he had no flowers. Nothing was how he had pictured it. But Charlotte’s closeness made it all real and perfect. 

The song was long, it seemed, until it died down with the finishing notes of a piano. Charlotte began to move apart from him slowly, before he softly said, “don’t, let’s keep dancing.” 

She looked at him then, her mouth open as if to protest, before a female’s voice hummed in their ears, and Charlotte smiled wickedly up at him, closing her mouth with a quick, “sure.” He narrowed his eyes. He knew that smile. It was the one that was making fun of him, not maliciously, but the one that told him she knew something he didn’t. He didn’t think it was the song itself. The melody sounded harmless enough and- 

“I love bad bitches, that’s my fucking problem-” and Charlotte was laughing hard, shaking against him as he stood speechlessly. 

“You still wanna dance?” She asked before she was laughing again. 

Steve opened his mouth a few times, but the things being recited into his ears were taking most of his attention. 

“I tried to tell you!” Charlotte said in between peals of laughter. “I mean, we can still dance to this, but I’d rather do it privately.” 

Steve knew he turned an unhealthy shade of red then, and Charlotte seemed to only laugh harder at this. 

“Halle-Berry-Halle-Lujah-Holla-Back-I’ll-Do-Ya-” Charlotte managed to recite with a straight face before she was laughing again. 

The song finished soon enough, and was replaced with a rock song. Charlotte grabbed her phone from her back pocket then, pausing it, and staring at him with a big smile for a long time. “I tried-“ she began with a smile still in place, but was cut off by Steve. 

“Not hard enough!” Steve protested, fighting the smile threatening to take over. He wasn’t mad, not really. Tony had made sure he was exposed to inappropriate music way before he was introduced to calmer genres, but it had still been a shock. To go from a love song, from such a perfect moment between   
Charlotte and him, to total chaos in a few seconds was a bit disconcerting, and even more so when Charlotte was the one listening to that music. 

“Uh-huh. I think you just wanted to get down and dirty with me,” Charlotte responded, still smiling that big smile, the one that made her eyes sparkle and held just enough mischief to incriminate herself. Steve loved that smile. 

“You caught me,” he responded, winding his arms around her waist, bringing her in closer. He knew his ears were red hot, but it was worth it when he said such bold things. They always caught her off guard, making her blush, and making him fall in love all over again. 

She adverted her gaze for a little, before she recuperated, her blush still in place when she looked back at him. “We should keep dancing. I’ve got a playlist full of Ed Sheeran’s best,” 

And Steve didn’t know who this guy was, but he quickly decided that the guitar and soft love declarations were very appropriate for the moment he had longed for.


	8. Something I Need

“No.” 

The word stung. Sort of like being slapped, but worse. Even Charlotte seemed to recognize how she had said it, because her eyes were wide in disbelief and looking at him in almost a pleading fashion. She wanted Steve to understand her, but he couldn’t. 

He should have probably worded his question better. Was there a better way of asking her to move to D.C. with him other than asking it downright? Charlotte appreciated that he didn’t, ‘beat around the bush,’ so to speak, so why the sudden answer? Why the no? 

“I love you…but I also love myself enough to know that I can’t just drop everything for you.” Charlotte explained after a rather long pause. They were sitting in her living room, both her roommates out for the evening, some sort of movie that Steve could not remember ever picking playing in the background. 

“I’m not asking you to do that,” Steve responded quickly, unsure if he was allowed to touch her again. She’d immediately separated from him when he had asked, and was now sitting on the other side of the sofa, staring at him with wide eyes. 

Charlotte shook her head, looking at her lap, “but you are.” 

“You don’t have a career yet, Charlotte. It’s not much you’d be dropping,” and Steve was angry when he said that, because, why? He had planned this going better, had planned for Charlotte being a bit more understanding, had planned on this night being the night he proposed after she’d say yes to the move. The ring in his pocket seemed to be white hot in his pocket, burning against the small velvet box it was encased in, and through his thigh as if to mock him, and he   
clenched his jaw. 

But Charlotte recoiled back, like she was the one being slapped now, and he almost gasped out loud when he realized what he had said. And then her eyes were hard, and her jaw was clenched, and she was crinkling her nose, oh, God, he’d just messed up. Because, as far as Charlotte went, that was the worst insult he could have thrown at her. He hadn’t meant it to be one, but he knew it was. She had spent the last month and a half looking for a job in anything related to her major, and was still unemployed in that department. She still waitressed, full time now, and even did tutoring for pay from time to time, and it wasn’t what she planned to do with her life, but she was proud of earning her keep, of being able to pay her part of the rent, and bills. And he’d just wounded her pride. 

“My whole life is here,” she began, her voice rough, and Steve knew she was holding back tears, “and I don’t have much, and damn it, I’ve never had much, and, to be perfectly honest, there is a very big possibility that I will never have much, but don’t you ever dare tell me that what I do is not worth anything. Because, yes, I am making minimum wage, and, sure, I have a degree and no job in that field, but I am honest, and proud, and you don’t get to tell me otherwise, Steve.” 

Another long pause. Steve didn’t know what to say, because he knew he had hurt her with what he’d say. He would take it back if he could, would reign in his sudden anger if he could, but no amount of praying or wishing would let him do that. 

“I think I’m going back to Arizona,” Charlotte suddenly said, her eyes on her lap, where she was picking at her nails. She did that when she was stressed, or nervous. 

“What?” Was the only response Steve could come up with, because he was suddenly aware that this conversation had taken a sharp turn without him and he was struggling to catch up. 

“Jay is going back to Nebraska by the beginning of August to start grad school there. And Lauren is moving in with her boyfriend by next month. I can’t afford rent on my own,” Charlotte shrugged, still not looking at him, “and my mom has a friend who knows someone who works at one of the news stations in Phoenix, and they think they can get me a paid internship just editing copy for them. It’s not ideal, but I only have a few months left before I have to start   
paying off my loans-” 

“I can help with that.” 

“No,” Charlotte answered quickly, without thought, as if she knew he would say this. She probably did, “no, you can’t.” 

Steve didn’t argue this. They had had this conversation before, and Steve was not about to add another argument into the already messed up conversation they were having. 

Because that is what this was. It was a messed up conversation, one that had grown out of control way too fast, and Steve did not know what to do or say. 

“There are jobs in D.C. too,” Steve tried after a few minutes of silence. Charlotte looked up from playing with her hands. 

“I’m not about to go into a new state without any resources-” 

“I already have an apartment, and I can take care of the utilities,” but Charlotte was already shaking her head no, “I can get you a job-” 

“I’m not going to be that girl, Steve.” 

“What does that even mean?” and Steve knew he sounded angry again, and he kind of was. 

“I’m not going to be the girl that becomes complacent and follows along with the boy, and lets him find her a job while she waits around-“ 

“That is not what I am saying!” 

And their voices were raised, and he knew he should never raise his voice at Charlotte, but he was angry and disappointed, and the small voice in the back of his head that reminded him of manners and chivalry was not enough to reel his voice back. 

“But that’s what you’re implying, Steve!” 

“God damn it, Charlotte! You’re putting words in my mouth!” And he’d blasphemed, and he never did that in front of Charlotte, but she was infuriating, and stubborn, and he loved her. “I want to help, and you’re not letting me! We’ve been over this already. I love you. So dang much, it hurts. And I just need you to rely on me occasionally. I need you to trust me.” 

“This isn’t about me being independent, Steve! You are missing the whole point. I need to be myself and not Steve’s girl all the time. I love being yours, because I know you are mine too. But you have the world to offer me, and I have nothing to offer in return, and I don’t want to lose myself in the idea that you’re going to have my back always. There are things I should, and can, do on my own.” 

He didn’t know how to respond to that. They were both breathing hard, Charlotte’s eyes red from unshed tears, her voice still rough, and he knew he must look a wreck. 

“I love you,” he repeated with fervor, and added, almost desperately, “I need you, Charlotte.” 

Because he did. He needed Charlotte; needed her to remind him that he was Steve Rogers, that he wasn’t just Captain America, that everything that he was hadn’t come out of a bottle. Because Charlotte made him feel alive, like he hadn’t woken up in a different century, like he hadn’t lost everything in a blink of an eye. She was home. 

And Steve was selfish enough to want to keep her around. He had given up everything, literally everything, and he was tired of being the martyr, of forgetting about his needs, and his hopes, and he just wanted this one thing to work. 

And then Charlotte let out a sob, one that Steve knew she had been holding in since the beginning of all this, and her arms were around herself, but he couldn’t bring himself to come closer to console her. 

She quieted down after that gut-wrenching sob, silent tears trailing down her face, and Steve managed to touch her knee with an unsure hand, before she launched herself at him, hugging tightly, and he did the same, letting her straddle him in the couch while she held him, and he did the same. 

She didn’t sob, just held him tightly, her face buried in the crook of his neck while he breathed in the honey scent of her hair. 

“I need you too,” she whispered into his neck after a few minutes. The movie was still playing in the background, but neither of them seemed to mind. Both had other things to worry about. Steve only tightened his arms around her in response, laying a kiss on the top of her head. 

A few minutes passed, and Steve let it, content to hold her, if only for right now. There was much to talk about, but it all seemed to have calmed down for now. 

And then Charlotte was dislodging herself from his grip, but kept her position on his lap. Her arms let go of him, but her hands came to cup his face in them. 

She looked into his eyes for a long time, and Steve didn’t talk, looking at her right back. 

“When?” She asked, and Steve was disoriented for a bit before his heart began to beat faster and he had to suppress the hopeful smile that was threatening to split his face. She hasn’t said yes, he reminded himself. 

“The orders are for the beginning of September,” he answered. 

“I’m paying half the rent,” Charlotte said after more silence, and Steve just nodded against her hands, choosing to keep the fact that he had already bought the place to himself for the time being. “And half the bills.” Steve nodded again, fighting hard to suppress the grin threatening to spill forth. 

And just like that Charlotte smiled, and punched his right pectoral. “You can smile now.” 

But he laughed, grabbing Charlotte thighs and laying her down on the couch before he was kissing her hard and smiling at the same time. And he was happy, elated, but stopped kissing her to say, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to-“ 

“I don’t. Feel that way, that is. There’s lots of websites where I can start looking for jobs in D.C. before anything happens. I wouldn’t be saying yes if I didn’t truly want to, Steve. You know that.” 

And he knew. She never did anything she did not want to do, and that made him smile wider, knowing that she was saying yes because she wanted to. 

“Just don’t propose to me right now,” she said, smiling up at him. 

“How did you know?” He asked, but not disappointed, because he hadn’t planned on doing so; not anymore, anyway. The ring was in his pocket, but had come to the decision that he had already gotten one yes, and that he would not push his luck. Besides, he wanted to propose at a better time, with flowers, and happy tears playing into the equation. He suddenly felt stupid for wanting to propose that night. 

“I can feel the box in your pocket,” she responded, before her face broke into a brilliant smile, the wicked smile he loved so much on her face now. “Or are you just happy to see me?” 

“Both?” he responded with a laugh before kissing her again, laying on top of her almost completely, his arms bracing against the sofa, taking most of his weight so as not to crush her. He couldn’t bring himself to blush, not now when he was as happy as he was right then and there. And she laughed against his mouth too, her hands on his face as they continued to kiss.


	9. Trumpets

Charlotte’s hands weren’t soft. Or, they were, Steve acquiesced, except that they were roughen up by work. 

Her right ring finger had a callous since her childhood from where she has always leaned her pencil or pen against while writing. Her right pinky had a gnarly multitude of scars from where she’s grated most of her finger off with a cheese grater when she was baking carrot cakes to sell to pay for Christmas presents for her family one year. Her left thumb and pointer finger both had a dark vertical line (not quite permanent scars, but ones that she’d had for a few months now) running from the nail to their wrist from when she’d dragged them along the edge of protective teeth at her work’s safe when she’s gone to retrieve change for the register. There was a burn scar on her right palm from where she’d distractedly pushed an oven rack in without wearing mittens. And her knuckles always had some sort of cut to them from something or other. 

She had freckles on her hands. Not overly noticeable ones, just some scattered along a finger or two, a stray one on her left palm, and another two on her wrist.   
And Steve loved them. Her fingers were long and slim, and she acknowledged it once when she’s told him she thought she could have been good at the piano if she’d ever gotten classes. “They’re good for typing on the computer and texting, though,” she’d added with a grin and a wiggle of her fingers. Compared to his hands, big and calloused on more than one place from the nature of his work (the general punching of supervillains and the throwing and catching of his shield made them this way), Charlotte’s were small and elegant, something she’d snorted in amusement at when he’d commented on them while sketching. 

“They’re rough, and borderline manly. But thanks,” She’d answered with a smile, going back to the open book on her lap. 

Charlotte was pale. Not overly pale, or sickenly pale, but an ivory color that contrasted with Steve’s more tanned complexion. He’d brought it up once when he was trying his hand at adding color to some of his sketches, and couldn’t come up with a suitable color for her. 

“I’m yellow. I’m not even joking. I got my skin tested at a make-up store once and the lady told me I was yellow, Steve. It’s sad. I’m from Arizona, literally hell on earth, and I can’t even tan because the more I try to, the more yellow I get. I’m defective, really.” And Steve had rolled his eyes and kissed the top of her head in acknowledgement but not in agreement. She wasn’t yellow, at least not to him, and she was perfectly fine the color she was. 

She had a splashing of freckles along her nose and under her eyes. They were light in color, only a few shades darker than her skin tone so that they were hard to see if one wasn’t close enough to see them. She had one prominent one right under her left eyebrow, a dark brown that no amount of makeup could even begin to cover it. It was a true testament of how little Charlotte thought of her face that she only knew of it until she was leafing through his sketchbooks and had remarked on it. 

“How do you not know you have a freckle that dark right underneath your eyebrow?” Steve had asked incredulously. 

Charlotte shrugged, studying her face in the small compact mirror she had in her bag. “Huh. I have three freckles right under my lip too. They could form a triangle,” she’d added. “Maybe I should pay more attention to my face.” The last statement was an afterthought, her eyes intent on her image in the mirror.   
She had a littering of wiry, pale stretch marks running vertically on both sides of her waist. Charlotte wasn’t particularly shy about her body around him, but he’d noticed how she’d sometimes shy away from his eyes when she’d catch him staring while she dressed in the mornings. He’d tried tracing them one night while she laid on her side, a book in her hand and craning her head in what had to be the most uncomfortable position Steve had ever seen (but, then again, he had gotten used to her weird reading habits). The lose shirt she had wearing had ridden up, and he had gotten distracted from his sitting position next to her when he’d seen the patch of skin illuminated by the soft yellow light of the lamp beside her. 

She had shivered, flinched against his fingers. 

“Don’t” she had said, quickly pulling her shirt down to cover the pale marks. She had gone back to reading, but he could see the tips of her ears burning a pale pink. 

So he had laid his sketchbook on the bedside next to him, laying down flush against her and pulling him into a spooning position, his hands resting on her stomach, another place she was shy about, but had less reservations about because of the constant touching Steve did. 

“I like them,” he’d mumbled into her ear, squeezing her harder against him. 

“Well, I don’t, so…” she’d trailed off, the book slipping from her hands onto the floor. She began to get up to get it but Steve held her tighter. 

“Why?” He had asked, kissing her shoulder blade. 

“They’re ugly,” she’d responded, no longer struggling since she knew Steve wasn’t one to let go when he was stubborn. She’d learn that when she had tried going to work with a fever, and he had held her down for an hour before she stopped her futile struggling against him, staying home for the day in bed. “I was a skinny child, and then puberty happened, and I got thunder thighs, and got fat, and then I lost some of the weight when I started working, and gained a bit again, and…” she trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t have a body issue complex, but that’s the one thing I would change if I could. Now I’m just stuck with them for the rest of my life.” 

“One, you don’t have thunder thighs-“ 

“Have you even seen them?!” 

“Two,” he began again with a warning glare that she could not see with her back to his, but he hoped she felt, “You’re not fat-” 

“I’m borderline-like two pounds-“ 

“And three,” he’d said with his voice a bit louder, “I love these,” he said, his hands trailing from her stomach to the run his fingers underneath her shirt and through the small web of wiry lines. She’d shuddered against him and tried to kick her legs from his, but he’d made sure to hold them down with his own as well. “And if I have to spend the rest of my life telling you exactly that, then I will.” 

“You’re so corny, I just got a cavity.” She’d mumbled, and he let some of his hold on her go so that she could turn around in his arms to face him as he laughed. 

“And you always ruin it. Maybe you’re allergic to corny,” He’d ran his fingers through the marks again after he’d said that, smiling at her the smile she loved to hate (it did weird things to her, after all). 

“I think I’m just allergic to you,” She’d jested. 

And that had been that, with Charlotte soon getting used to the way his fingers would ghost over the light marks every time he could get his hands under her shirt. 

But Steve loved her lips the most. They were small and full, and always had a purplish twinge to them even without any lipstick. 

“According to personology-totally pseudo-science and something I would hate to believe-I have the lips of a dictator because they’re so small,” she’d remarked   
once, tracing the lips of the drawing Steve had drawn for her that day. 

“You are bossy,’’ Steve conceded with a teasing grin, watching as her lips thinned into a smile, and she let out a laugh. 

“You say that now…” She sing-songed, handing back his sketchbook. 

But they weren’t always soft, like Steve expected of women. During the winter, they were often a bit chapped, always with a thick covering of Chapstick that seemed to do next to nothing. Charlotte blamed it on the fact that she’d grown up in Arizona, where she didn’t have to worry too much about the wintry winds.   
He loved when she’d bite her bottom lip when thinking hard. Or the subtle pout she swore she didn’t get when she was mad. He’d come to recognize it after a few months of dating, since it was so subtle, so unnoticeable that one that didn’t know her would not recognize it. But it was a thing, her top lip somehow taking on a plumper look than her bottom one in a reverse pout that Steve was both hesitant of (although that anger was not always directed at him), and enamored with. 

When she smiled, it would start at the corners of her mouth, lifting hesitantly before she’d smile widely, her lips thinning into softer lines of plumpness. 

And he was in love with her. All of it; the scarred hands, the freckles, the stretch marks, and the dictator lips. Ugliness and roughness (however much he disagreed with those particular adjectives) and snarky humor, everything. They were Charlotte, and they were his home and what he thought about when he was away from home.


	10. Stay Stay Stay

Her face felt tight, and she could feel the anger in her veins as she stared down at Agent Hill, and Natasha Romanoff sitting at one of her tables at the café she was working at. 

“I have a thirty-minute break in an hour. You can come back then,” Charlotte said in response to the inquiry for a meeting, her voice clipped and with a threat that left no voice for argument. “Are you staying? If so, what can I get you?” 

Agent Hill’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Natasha’s lip twitched in what could have been a smile. 

“Coffee’s fine,” The redhead responded. 

“Water,” Her companion intoned, her jaw locked. 

Charlotte glared briefly, but nodded in acknowledgment still. “Be right back,” she mumbled. 

When Charlotte stepped into the back kitchen to grab another table’s order, she was tempted to text Steve to let him know that his co-workers were outside requesting a meeting out of a civilian. But he was somewhere in South America without communication, and, at any rate, she would have never done that. She could take care of herself. 

The next hour was uneventful, smiling at customers and taking orders while she tried to ignore the glare from the two agents sitting in the back of the café. 

By the time her break came around, she was scowling, her stomach in a knot as she tried not to think of the worst case scenario. Her head, though, wasn’t cooperating, conjuring images of Steve laying on the ground, his pretty blue eyes lifeless-and, nope, she wasn’t going to go there. He couldn’t be dead. They would have told her without the waiting around. Maybe. 

Right. 

“He’s not dead, is he?” Was her greeting as she slid into a seat in front of Agent Hill. 

“Cap’s fine,” It was Natasha that answered from beside her, taking a sip of her third cup of coffee. “You gonna eat?” She asked next, almost in a conversational manner, as if her and her partner’s presence wasn’t a rarity. Almost friendly, and Charlotte wanted to laugh and punch something all at the same time. 

The woman had never truly been friendly. Steve had told her that Natasha seemed to like her just fine, but Charlotte’s intuition told her another story. In fact, she felt tolerated by the woman, as if she were merely just there because her boyfriend brought her, but not because she was wanted. She felt unwelcomed by the redhead, and refused any invitation at real, substantial conversation that Charlotte had tried to have with her for the sake of friendship, or at least camaraderie. Natasha didn’t like her, not really, and Charlotte knew. 

And of Maria Hill? Well, the dislike was mutual. 

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m good…what can I help you with?” She asked, wanting this to end as soon as it could. She felt intimidated by the piercing eyes of both women on her, and while on anyone else intimidation might manifest in shyness and fidgeting, Charlotte knew that she turned into a wounded animal, lashing out with anger and retaliating with a sharp tongue if she didn’t check herself. She felt confident, but uncomfortable as she squared her shoulders as if that would lessen the brunt of what the women would eventually say. 

“Let me get to the point, Ms. Owens: You know too much” It was Agent Hill that spoke first, an eyebrow raised as if to challenge her own statement. 

“About?” Charlotte asked. If Agent Hill wanted to play with words and be ambiguous enough to let Charlotte incriminate herself, then two could play at this game. They’d done this before, after all. 

Hill snorted in a derisive way, and Charlotte clenched her fists in her lap. “Oh, come on, Ms. Owens. You’re dating Captain-“ 

“Steve. I’m dating Steve Rogers.” 

And Charlotte was stubborn on this particular point. She had been from the second Steve had told her, because it was the truth. She had developed a crush on the shy, awkward man that had pretty, lonely eyes. She had really liked the man with the half smile, old leather jacket, and bashful blush. And she had fallen in love with Steven Grant Rogers, the man who fed the homeless on his days off, complained about inflation, and still read the newspapers in paper form.   
She had never, for one second, thought of Captain America as the man she was dating. He was the man that Charlotte had never particularly met, as she had only seen broken Steve Rogers in the costume once, when he’d knocked on her door at a God-awful time, his eyes looking haunted, and sagging against her as if he depended on her. But that was Steve in a costume, not Captain America, and she was fine with never having met the guy. She was sure he was as amazing as Steve Rogers, but the two were not inclusive, not really, so she didn’t feel the need. Steve was Steve, and that was that. 

“When it comes to Captain America-“ 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to stop you right there, because I feel as if there’s some kind of language barrier here. I’ve told you who my boyfriend is on more than one occasion, Agent Hill, but somehow you don’t seem to understand what I’ve been-” 

“We’re here because you’re going to get yourself killed, and, in the process, your boyfriend.” Natasha interrupted, her big eyes looking at Charlotte impassively,   
as if she’d merely commented on the taste of the coffee in front of her. 

“If you’re trying to give me the shovel talk-” Charlotte began, her jaw in pain from how tightly she was clenching it. 

“Merely a friendly warning. You’re important to Steve, and important things are the first thing the enemy gets a hold of. You should ask Pepper Potts about it.” 

“I’m not a-“ 

“This is not about being afraid, Ms. Owens. It’s about survival. Ever heard of fight-or-flight?” 

“I’ve never been one to back down. I’m hard-headed.” 

“This isn’t a classroom debate, Ms. Owens.” 

And Charlotte was speechless. Offended. “I know what I’m getting myself into.” 

“Sure.” Natasha said with a small, cynical smirk. She stood up then, Agent Hill standing as well, and putting some bills on the table to cover the coffee. 

“Just friendly advice.” Agent Hill said on her way out. 

The conversation kept replaying in the back of her mind after that. Going back to work after her lunch break was over was a bad as idea as she was sent home twenty minutes in when she dropped two platters with coffee cups on top because her hands couldn’t stop shaking. 

And Charlotte wished she was shaking with fear. That would at least be rational, she figured, because that’s what normal people would feel like when an assassin and a government agent came to them to inform them of their impending death. Except that she wasn’t afraid. 

She was angry. Furious even. How dare they think it was acceptable to come threaten (because that’s what it was; it was an ultimatum: end it with Steve or die) her at her place of work, and mock her? She was young, true, only twenty-one, but she was smart, and not just classroom smart, as Natasha had pointed out. 

She was stubborn, but smart enough to know when to quit. 

And Steve was one thing she was not going to quit. 

He was good; so good she sometimes felt undeserving of him, but she was stubborn and selfish enough to not want to let go. 

But he wasn’t perfect. He was as stubborn as her, and hard-headed (like her) when he got an idea into his head. 

He sometimes forgot to put down the toilet seat, and God did that not anger Charlotte. She’d lived with two pigs for brothers her whole life, she’d told him once, and she was not about to live with another-never mind that they had not officially moved in together yet. And Steve had rolled his eyes at her, something so out-of-place for him that Charlotte had laughed instantly, all annoyance leaving her. 

He worked out like it was nobody’s business, Charlotte discovered soon, even though he never did when she was free-which didn’t seem to be too often in the beginning of their relationship. That had once been a deal breaker for Charlotte, since she hated the thought of a man spending three hours at the gym when he could be doing anything other than that-like reading a book. She was the first to admit that she had judged Steve that way when he’d first walked into her café, all muscles and height. In fact, she hadn’t liked him much at first glance, categorizing him as the jock type that spent all of his free time (and then some) at the gym until she realized how incredibly sweet and shy he could be. 

He got her flowers way too often. Charlotte wasn’t the romantic type, or the type that expected love declarations left and right. She believed in actions, and there was not one second that she did not feel loved in the presence of Steve. He opened doors, placed his hands on the small of her back when they were around crowds or entering a room, and liked to hold her hand when in public; all gestures she had scoffed at once, but realized were Steve’s form of affection. But he insisted on the flowers, getting her a bouquet of white roses at least twice a week so that her room always had fresh flowers. She would have told him it was a waste of money if he didn’t blush as prettily as he did when he handed them over. 

And he wore cardigans. Like old man cardigans, the ones that should not look as good as they did on him. Tony would always call him Mr. Rogers when he did so, and Steve would roll his eyes because Bruce had been kind enough to explain that particular reference. But he never stopped wearing them, going as far as doing so more often when he realized Charlotte enjoyed unbuttoning them. 

She mused all of this as she walked around Central Park, as she like to do, to try and clear her head, but knew she would get nowhere with that. SHIELD had a knack for getting her shaken up, going as far as having someone follow her everywhere, including in that particular moment. She had been creeped out at first, but didn’t tell Steve. The man didn’t seem to be anywhere near her whenever Steve was around, so she wasn’t going to bother him with it. 

She’d always been good at observing her surroundings, so it was easy to pin point the man in a dark suit who always seemed to be at the exact same spot she was at, sitting a few tables from her when she’d sit down to read at a coffee shop, or sitting a few chairs over from her every time she sat waiting in the lobby of one of the many different place she had tried to get hired at. SHIELD, she supposed, didn’t think they needed to be any sort of subtle with her, someone they saw as more of a nuisance than a threat. 

So she sat down on the nearest unoccupied bench she could find, and spoke as loudly as it was sociably acceptable. “You know I know you’ve been following me for months, right?” 

She was tired of, and felt a bit rude for not addressing the man that had been following her for months before. They’d been times when she felt like calling him out, but she was of the idea that sometimes pretending that things were not there was the right thing to do. Not on every situation, but for the sake of not raising an argument between SHIELD, Steve, and herself, who was already hated by the organization, she had pretended the shadow was not there. But she was done that day. 

No one responded for a few moments until the man in the dark suit sat next to her, staring straight ahead with a pair of dark sunglasses on. He was tall and lanky, with a buzz cut and a very unattractive mustache that looked like it took a few months to even grow out. 

“You’re very observant,” he commented after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

“You’re not that subtle,” she retorted. “You suck at your job.” 

And normally, she would be pleasant, but her mouth and brain were never connected when she was angry and, or sad. 

“Which is why I’m stuck detailing you,” he answered, “no offense. SHIELD just figured a civilian would never notice.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “I am so fired for this.” 

“Why are you even following me?” She asked, ignoring his comment. He could get fired for all she cared. He obviously sucked and he knew it. 

“Classified,” he answered but then grinned and took off his glasses, a pair of green eyes dazzling down at her. “But since I’m totally fired now…SHIELD basically hates you, but needs Cap, and there’s some intel that your name came up in some files Agent Romanoff recovered from a terrorist organization. They figure that if you stay alive, Cap keeps on fighting for them.” 

Well, the kid was easy and definitely should not have even gotten into the organization. 

Charlotte was quiet for a long time, trying to process the information. The information did not startle her as much as it should have, she mused to herself when she discovered that it didn’t even cause her to shake. Maybe it was because of the conversation she’d had that morning with the two female agents that she was not as impressed as she could have been. Been there, done that, I guess, she thought to herself. 

So, instead of asking more questions that she was not even entirely sure she even wanted the answers to, she grinned, and turned to the nameless agent next to her. “Wow. You are so fired after this.” 

“At this point, it’s go big or go home, baby.” He laughed, “Besides, I hate this job. You’re boring.” 

“How’d they even let you in to begin with, anyway?” she asked, because, what the heck? She’d already had a crappy day, and Steve was not even in the same continent, and she had nothing else to do. Plus, he didn’t seem to be offended by her blunt comments, just like she didn’t take anything he was saying against her to heart. 

He shrugged. “I got in fair and square. Only, I kept thinking SHIELD would be all world saving and fighting bad guys, but it totally isn’t. It’s more paperwork than anything, and rookies like me just get to do stupid stuff…” he trailed off. 

“Like following me around,” she finished for him. 

“Yes,” he responded with a grin. “Anyway, since I know I am fired, I am going to go get drunk for the first time since I started working for this organization. Wanna come with?” 

Charlotte thought about it, surprised at how tempting the offer sounded. She wasn’t much of a drinker, only really doing it when she was around people she trusted, and even then she never let herself get drunk. She was a heavy weight, her friends had discovered, and so she was almost always the designated driver. But she shook the temptation off, completely over the idea of spending more time with SHIELD Agents than she had already done so that day. 

“No, but thanks for offering. Have fun looking for another job, I guess,” she responded after a bit, and the agent, whose name she did not know, and she could not even begin to care about, smiled as he stood up. 

“I’ll try.” And he was gone with a wave. 

Almost as if on cue, Charlotte’s phone went off. She took it out of her pocket with a sigh and smiled a bit when she saw Steve’s confused face lighting up her screen. She’d taken that particular picture by surprise, calling his name out quickly and exclaiming, “cheese!” before she took the picture. It was her favorite.   
“You’re alive,” she greeted, as she did every time she saw or heard of him after a mission. She knew the way she phrased some things were insensitive and even offensive sometimes, but she was of the idea of ripping the band aid off as fast as possible, so to speak. 

There was a bit of silence, and she chuckled because she knew Steve had nodded on the other side and was now blushing at his mistake. “I can’t see you, old man” she smiled as she said that, and Steve chuckled into her ear. 

“You think you’re so funny,” he commented, but Charlotte could hear his smile over the phone. “Where are you? I went to your work to see you, but they said you went home early. Is everything alright?” 

And Charlotte knew there were two ways this conversation could go. She knew she could lie, say everything was fine, and go on until everything blew up. She’d watched enough romantic comedies where everyone bottled up things until a break up happened, and her past behavior in this relationship had proven part of this theory. Steve was honest with her, as much as he could working for SHIELD, anyway, and she had to learn to be as equally trusting as he was.   
So she told him everything over the phone, not whining, but just telling him about SHIELD, about the intel, about the agent that had just blown his cover, and about that morning. He didn’t interrupt, just listened, and Charlotte had to ponder, as she had been doing almost every day for the last several months, on how she got so lucky with Steve. 

“And, I feel like I should probably be scared, because, come on, that would be a normal human reaction, but I’m not…It’s kindda funny, actually. Not the situation…just, everything, I guess.” She finished. There was more silence and Charlotte almost thought she was alone in the line if she couldn’t hear Steve’s breathing. “Also, SHIELD really needs to screen their recruits better. There was not one second where I wasn’t aware of the agent’s presence.” 

There was more silence, and Charlotte was suddenly worried by it. “You still there, Steve?” 

“Yup.” He answered, and Charlotte cringed. He was mad. “Where are you?” 

“Central Park, but you’re probably tired, and-” 

“You should go to the Tower. JARVIS knows you have access to my floor-” 

“Nope. I am going to go grab ice cream, maybe a bag of chips, and then head to my own apartment-” 

“Charlotte-“ 

“Steve.” 

She heard him sigh. “Look, I’m going back to headquarters to fix this-” 

“Nope, nothing to fix here. In fact, I’m really starting to regret even saying anything in the first place-” 

“Really, Charlotte? Can you at least please take this a little bit more seriously? This can mean a serious threat-” 

“You know what, I am not doing this with you right now, especially over the phone. You wanna be angry? Fine, because now I am too, so I kindda don’t want to   
see your face at this moment. So, I’m going to hang up, and go home, and we can talk about this in person at a later time that is not today.” 

And she hung up on him before he said anything, before he would retort and she would feel bad and think about the puppy dog eyes he had perfected down to a T (and if anybody told her they were unintentional, she would laugh because Steve wasn’t as innocent as people thought) and her resolve would crumble. 

She was mad and she was going to stay mad because this one was not on her. Sure, she liked to think she knew what she had signed up for when she began to date Steve Rogers, but it was times like these, when agents from SHIELD tried to intimidate her, that she realized that maybe she was way in over her head. 

By the time she got to her apartment, with a pint of coffee flavored ice cream and a family size bag of chips, she was dragging her feet, already feeling slightly guilty about hanging up on Steve, but not enough for her to call him or even begin to formulate an apology. She would stay mad for a bit more, she determined as she set up camp in the living room in front of her beat up laptop, who was struggling to pull up Netflix. 

“You need a new laptop,” Jay commented as he sat beside her slumped form on the beat up couch, taking the tub of ice cream and spoon from her willing hands, and scooping up some into his mouth. “Trouble with the All-American Boy?” he asked after a few minutes of passing the ice cream between them back and forth silently. Netflix was still not loaded. 

“His name’s Steve,” was her response because she didn’t want to answer the question. It wasn’t so much as she was mad at him, really. She was just angry at the world in general, she supposed, and, if she was being honest with herself, she was now madder at Magnus, her stupid laptop. 

“Isn’t that what I said?” Jay grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. “You know I’d offer to beat him up, but I’d rather not get my ass kicked…I could try and hack his computer, though. Load it with viruses or something.” There was a beat of silence and then, “maybe porn. He seems like the type that wouldn’t like that sort of thing.” 

“Ok, why are you doing this? Since when have you given one care to my relationship with Steve?” She asked, half jokingly, but truthfully stunned. Jay was her friend, sure, but they were really more roommates that tolerated each other enough to share a spoon, and a bathroom in the mornings when one needed to brush their teeth while the other was in the shower. They were poor college students, including Lauren, so of course they lost all sense of modesty when in their small overpriced New York apartment. 

But that was about it. They didn’t much care for each other’s personal lives as long as they didn’t interfere with paying the rent and doing their chores. They were friends, but not Friends. 

“I don’t know.” Jay shrugged, but gave her a smile as he licked the excess of ice cream off the spoon before handing it back to her. “I think I’m suddenly sentimental since we’re about to part ways and all that. Plus, I want to make sure you don’t break up with that pretty boy of yours before you have a place to stay. It’d be a shame if you had to move back to Arizona because you couldn’t afford a place in whatever place you actually wanted to be.” 

Charlotte smiled, a bit watery since this had probably had to be the first time her and Jay had talked about anything sentimental. Mostly, their language was made up of jokes and teasing each other, but never anything too deep. So she let her eyes get watery as her body shifted closer to his so that she could lay her head on his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Jay.” She said, and he shrugged against her head. 

“Yeah, sure,” they stayed stayed in silence for some more time before Jay chuckled and added, “besides, I’m afraid that you will break it off with the All American Boy and end up an old spinster because of how incredibly dorky you are.” 

“Screw you,” she laughed before she shoved off him, taking the tub of ice cream from his hands. “I would so not be an old spinster. I’m a dog person. It is literally in my genes that I meet an all around good guy that loves dogs and possibly hiking, and is therefore, the epitome of perfection. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m meant to live some kind of really bad and cheesy romantic comedy.” 

“And what? This is the part where you’re angry at Perfect Guy so you wallow in typical girl fashion with ice cream and romantic movies, and Perfect Guy is over somewhere stewing on his own anger? Should I be expecting him to knock on our door at an ungodly hour to perform a perfectly choreographed musical number outlining the reasons why he can’t live without you?” Jay teased. “That is, of course, if your stupid computer ever gets around to loading up a simple web page so we can move along with this plot line.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m not even sure I’m angry at him at all. I’ve just had a crappy day.” 

“Uh-hu.” Nodded, and Charlotte knew he was mocking her so she shoved him again, hoping he’d fall off the couch. And he did, rather ungracefully, but laughed it off and picked himself back up. 

“Whatever; I get the hint. Going now. I have a life, you know. Places to see, people to meet, all that,” he said, grabbing his keys from the kitchen table. 

“I see how it is! You’re ditching me for a hot date!” Charlotte called after him. 

“Hell yeah I am. Try not to wake up with our sounds-Oh, hey Steve! Why yes, go right in and talk to your girlfriend! You about to start singing now?” 

“What?” Charlotte heard Steve question, and she sighed. He was here and now she had to be angry, and eventually let him steer them towards a compromise even though all she wanted to do was act tired an dpretend today hadn’t happened at all. 

She heard Jay laugh and the closing of the door before Steve settled beside her on the couch with a heavy sigh. Charlotte looked at him from the corner of her eyes and saw him open his mouth to begin speaking before she interrupted him because she really wasn’t up for any dramatics now. 

“I love you, Steve, but I kindda don’t like you right now. I don’t want to hear any lecture from you about danger and cautiousness because I am a grown ass woman that can take care of herself and knows what she’s gotten herself into. So, I would suggest that we don’t talk about this until I realize I’m angrier at the situation than I am at you.” 

“I don’t like you every much right now either. You’re too stubborn.” Was all he said before he took the melting ice cream from her offering hands. “We watching a blank screen tonight?” 

“We are if my piece of crap technology decides to work,” she responded, opening the bag of chips she had by her feet. “Everything went fine?” 

“Are you asking about the mission or about SHIELD and the stack of intel about you they recovered from a HYDRA facility. Or maybe about the agent that’s been following you around for about six months now and is now facing serious legal repercussions because he just spilled confidential information to a target?” Steve responded in a clipped tone, and Charlotte’s face froze into a mask of fury. 

He wanted to fight when there really shouldn’t be a fight? Fine, she could be angry and yell and be mean if he wanted her to be. She’d accrued enough anger all of that day, after all. 

“About the mission, but I feel like that’s not what you want to talk about,” she answered with a glare of her own. Steve set the ice cream down with much more force than was needed onto the coffee table in front of him and turned his full attention towards her. She did the same with the bag of chips, letting some spill onto the floor, but she didn’t care. 

Steve shrugged stiffly, “no, let’s talk about my mission. It began with a ten-hour flight to Brazil, in which I debriefed my team with information that later on turned out to be completely false. I had two of my men die, and four injured. And we never retrieved the documents that we were supposed to be extracting. I came to headquarters with a mile-long list of reports I had to fill out before I had to sit in an uncomfortable conference room as I recounted to my superior exactly why a simple intel mission went wrong. And then, when that was all over, I had to meet up with HR and make sure that I signed the consolation letters that the family of the two men that died will receive tomorrow morning, as if a paper signed by the leader of the mission their spouse or son was on is enough to lessen the brunt of a dead loved one. And then, when I think I can just be Steve going out to lunch with his best girl Charlotte, I’m told she’s gone home early. And then I call you, and my day doesn’t end.” He took a deep breath and Charlotte felt so guilty, so angry still, and so sad now at the same time that she couldn’t come up with anything to do or say. “You wanna talk about the intel now?” 

Charlotte shook her head no. 

“You sure? ‘Cause I sure do.” Steve said, and Charlotte could feel the anger behind the seemingly innocent question. There was a pause and then, “Or you wanna ignore all this and pretend like everything’s perfect, because-” 

“You don’t have to be a jerk,” Charlotte mumbled, looking at the ground, and she felt like hitting herself for sounding so pathetic. She had meant to say it with more conviction, with anger, and perhaps a whole lot of indignation. But she knew he was tired and angry and, because they were so alike, he could be mean without meaning to in times of anger just like her. And she didn’t want to fight, because, just like she had thought it all along, she really was not angry at Steve. He was just a scapegoat to all her frustration of the day. And now, she was probably his. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He conceded. She felt his fingers ghost over her thigh and knee, so that she had to look up. “It’s been a crappy couple of days.” 

Charlotte shrugged. “I won’t pretend I know what your days have been like…and I can’t compare it to mine, but in normal, civilian perspective, my day’s been crappy too.” 

Steve gave her a small smile, a ghost of the boyish smile that had made her fall in love with him so, and she gave him a small smile of her own in return. 

There was some silence between them, not uncomfortably so, but not familiar and welcoming like theirs were. 

Charlotte’s mind, then, brought forth what she had refused to think about all along and she couldn’t help the onslaught of words as they poured out of her mouth. 

“You’re not going to break up with me, are you? Because if you are, I would let you because I refuse to be with somebody that doesn’t want to be in a relationship, except, well, it’s going to kill me, and I really don’t want to break up over some stupid noble, ‘I want to protect Charlotte,’ thing.” 

Steve looked at her with slightly panicked eyes, “I don’t-I wouldn’t-” 

“Ok, good. I don’t want to.” Charlotte swallowed past the forming lump in her throat. “I know you’ve given up everything-literally everything-for the sake of protecting others, but maybe, I don’t know, maybe-maybe-you can be a bit selfish with me?” 

Steve smiled, and Charlotte was talking again before he spoke up. “I’ve never asked anything of you other than for you to understand I am independent, so I think I can ask you this. I-I mean, if you want to break up with me, I just need you to have a valid reason, like, ‘oh Charlotte, I fell in love with Natasha,’ or even, ‘oh Charlotte, I just realized you’re such a dork’ or something equally as plausible as that because that would be ok because it’s valid enough. But can you please not break up with me because you think that will protect me? It won’t because my name is already on files, and I read the Harry Potter books, and Ginny was no better protected without Harry after he broke up with her than when she was with him. It doesn’t end well either way, so I think we should stay together.” 

“Natasha?” he raised an eyebrow in amusement. 

“You spend a lot of time with her. And she’s hot and the brooding mysterious kind.” 

“And I’m Harry Potter now?” 

“You both have a certain kind of sass that would borderline asshole if it were not for the pretty eyes and hero complexes.” 

Steve laughed then, a deep rumbling, body shaking laugh that had him leaning against the couch, his head thrown back, an arm around his stomach as he held   
onto her knee with his free hand. 

And the Charlotte was laughing too, because why not? This was probably the strangest day she’d ever had, and Steve was alive, and laughing like she had never seen him laugh before. 

He pulled her onto his lap after a few minutes of peels of laughter, pulling her hair away from her face, and caressing calloused thumbs against her cheeks. 

“I’m not breaking up with you anytime soon. I’ve got a ring for you in my sock drawer that I intend to slide onto your finger sometime soon.” 

“Ok.” Was all she said, and Steve kept on talking. 

“SHIELD’s appointing another agent to detail you-” 

“No, Steve-” 

“Yes, Charlotte. Please.” And Charlotte sighed because she guessed she could understand. Compromises, she reminded herself. 

“Can I at least know their name this time? And maybe be assured that they won’t be following me into the bathroom, or watching me while I sleep?” 

“Deal.” His hands moved down to her waist, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Natasha’s not my type, by the way. I’m into dorky, curvy brunette’s that are too stubborn for themselves, and call me a jerk when I’m being one.” 

And just like that they were Steve and Charlotte again. In sync, and truthful, and so in love Charlotte felt like gagging.


	11. True Love

“I think I snore in my sleep,” Charlotte mumbled from her place besides Steve on the floor. 

They had been packing all day for their upcoming move to DC the following week, starting in Steve’s floor at the Tower, knowing they would finish early enough since he didn’t have many personal things to begin with. They had stopped for a quick lunch at a diner, before they began with Charlotte’s things. Although the apartment she shared with her roommates wasn’t very big, it seemed to hold more clutter than one would presume at first glance. It didn’t help that the three roommates had been bartering off shared items for most of the afternoon, so not much actual packing was getting done in between yelling and arguments over inflation and translation of currency in the form of kitchen items. 

Now, exhausted (and even Steve, the super soldier, could admit he was tired) Charlotte and Steve laid on the ground, wedged between half-packed boxes and trash bags full of Jay’s clothes, who refused to spend money on luggage. 

“Nah. You just sort of sigh sometimes,” Steve chuckled, his shoulder, already touching Charlotte’s, rubbing against hers, “and you laughed so hard one time that you woke yourself up with a snort.” 

Charlotte chuckled in turn, “I remember that,” she said, and they lapsed into silence one more time. 

“Do I snore?” 

“Horribly. Sometimes. Other times, you’re super quiet,” Charlotte responded, “You weirdo,” she added as an afterthought. 

“Takes one to know one,” Steve replied mildly, with a smile. 

Charlotte hummed in acknowledgment, and then asked, “You’re turn. I’ve decided we’re going to get every possible embarrassing thing about ourselves out in the open before we actually live together, and decide we completely annoy and hate each other.” 

Steve smiled to himself. He couldn’t picture hating Charlotte, not ever, not really, but he knew enough about themselves as a couple to know that they would and could annoy each other. So he acquiesced. 

“I leave the toilet seat up” Steve admitted, knowing this was something they had already talked about, and something she hated. 

“Oh, God! I want to strangle you every time I sleep at your place,” Charlotte supplied. “My turn… I don’t eat fruit that needs to be peeled because I’m too lazy to actually peel it. Like, I love oranges, but until someone comes up with oranges that you can just bite into without peeling, I probably won’t be eating too many.” 

“That’s the laziest thing I have ever heard anyone say,” Steve admitted with a smile. It disappeared quickly, though, as he thought over what he would say next. He had discussed Captain America with Charlotte before, not at length, but enough that she knew that he was enhanced; more so than any other human. But he carried on, saying what he wanted to, because they needed to do this. “I used to weigh like 98 pounds,” 

“Everybody used to weigh 98 pounds at one point, Steve” Steve could almost hear her eyes roll, but before he could get into any emotional talk, Charlotte barreled on. “But I know what you mean,” here, she turned to make eye contact with him, and Steve turned as well, their breathes mingling in their close proximity. “Tony gave me a weird shovel talk while you were down with that alien injury a few months back. There may or may not have been visuals.” 

And Steve was suddenly furious, his ears burning at the thought of the billionaire sharing something so personal with the girl he intended to spend the rest of his life with. Charlotte seem to detect the tense muscles and the fire in his eyes because she brought a hand to his cheek and made him look her in the eye. 

“He meant well, Steve, and it obviously didn’t affect the way I look at you or this relationship at all,” she gave him a chaste kiss before she began speaking again. “Have you ever cyber stalked me?” 

Steve frowned in confusion at the change of subject and the inquiry, and Charlotte smiled. 

“Right.” She reached for her phone in that back pocket of her shorts, the screen of which held a few cracks around the far right edge of it. Steve knew, without really knowing, that she avoided taking it out in front of Tony whenever they were in the same vicinity because it was more than likely that the man would get her a new one. She typed a few things, banging the phone a few times against the flooring in an attempt to make it go faster, before she shoved the screen onto his face. “He was my prom date. Not a very good one, but mostly because he was too shy to dance, and too nervous to make me laugh as much as he usually did.” 

The picture was pulled up from Facebook (and, yes, Steve knew about that, thank you very much), taking up most of the screen so that Steve could see clearly. The picture, taken in what seemed to be a park with fountains decorating around it, was of Charlotte in a long red, figure hugging dress, her long dark hair blowing in the wind, a bright smile on glossy lips. Steve’s eyes followed her arm, which was draped around the shoulders of a man (boy?) a few inches smaller than her, with glasses that were far too big for his eyes, and a suit that ill suited him. He was smiling brightly at the camera, though, his hand loosely holding on to Charlotte’s hip, and a rose on his other hand. 

“That’s Daniel. He was-is-a good friend of mine since like the sixth grade. He was born premature, so he’s never been the biggest. Eats like he’s always starving, but never seems to put on a pound of fat.” Charlotte chuckled, “He had a crush on me the last two years of high school, and I won’t lie and say I didn’t either. He always made me laugh, and would send me these hilarious little videos where he would talk in totally inappropriate accents just to make me laugh. Not once, though, did I think I didn’t like him just because of his size.” 

Steve stared at the picture for a bit more, before he looked up to her eyes, and Charlotte gave him a wicked grin, “and he was totally my first kiss.” 

Steve pulled her closer by the waist, dropping the phone between them onto the floor, and dropped a kiss onto her temple, mumbling, “Didn’t want to know that,” 

And he probably didn’t really want to know that, but he couldn’t really bring himself to feel jealous when relief over her words overpowered every other feeling (expect for the little rage against Tony Stark. That would remain for a bit more until he had words on the subject of privacy with the man). 

“Too bad. I’m counting that as my confession. You’re turn again.” 

“Cheater,” he said, pinching her side playfully, Charlotte letting out a small squeal before she disentangled herself from him and went back to laying on her back, Steve doing the same. “To be honest, I didn’t like those pancakes you made the other day.” 

Charlotte began laughing then, a hand holding her stomach while the other went to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. “I know.” 

“Than why’d you let me eat them?!” Steve asked, a little annoyed, but also equally amused. She had made a large batch that morning, saying how she’d found a new recipe online that didn’t require any flour, and she had looked so excited cooking for him for once that he hadn’t had the heart to not eat them. He ate a total of eight pancakes before he decided that the number was enough to not make Charlotte suspicious to his dislike of the hard lumps she was serving him. 

“Because I figured if you were eating those things, you must really love me. Also, I was getting some sort of sick amusement seeing you grimace and trying not to choke when you thought I wasn’t looking.” 

"You know, you keep saying you love me, but I feel like you just keep me around for your amusement.” Steve commented with a smile turned towards her. 

“Aw, shit. You found me out,” Charlotte deadpanned, laughter still in her eyes. “My turn. So, July fourth. I gave you that 32mm camera, saying I bought it for you because I thought of you when I saw it at a flee market. Truth is, though, when Tony gave me that shovel-talk-whatever-thing, the part of your file he showed me included your birthdate-which, by the way, wow, you can’t get more Captain American-y than that. Anyway, you never personally told me your birthday, so I figured if you didn’t say anything, I wouldn’t either, and I would just give you a present anyway. So…” 

Steve suddenly realized that he didn’t know Charlotte’s birthday either, and he felt cold with the realization. They were moving in together in the next few days, he was planning on spending the rest of his life with her (however long or short it might be with his line of work), and he had never thought of asking for her birthday. With the almost year they had been together, he was sure he had missed her birthday already, and he suddenly felt like the most horrible boyfriend in the planet. 

“November 1st. Basically, the best day ever, because I’m lucky enough to have missed being some kind of demon child by a day, at the same time that I get Halloween candy for half price,” Charlotte answered his unasked question. 

He thought hard for a bit before he spoke, “I was with you for your birthday last year.” 

“Yup.” 

“I didn’t know it was your birthday.” 

“I know. It was great.” 

“We had hot dogs from a questionable cart near Times Squares, and you ended up taking the subway home because I got called in.” And he suddenly felt much more horrified than before. “You don’t even like hot dogs!” 

“I know. But you didn’t know that back then, and, honestly, I have never liked to make a big deal out of my birthday, anyway. Besides, I was just happy I was spending time with you. We had only gone on a couple of dates, and I was really infatuated with the way you blushed every time we held hands. It was a good birthday.” Charlotte amended in a calm voice. “Besides, you didn’t tell me yours either, so we’re even.” 

“I didn’t get you anything.” Steve insisted because there was no way he felt better about not knowing her birthday. 

“You got me a hot dog,” Charlotte said with a grin. 

Steve frowned. “Next year. I promise-” 

“Nope. No party. No fancy presents. I’m good.” 

“We’ll see,” Steve responded just like he responded when he compromised until further notice. That is to say, when he didn’t agree but went and did the thing anyway and apologized later. Charlotte did the same thing. “My turn again, I guess… I have two sketchbooks full of you from before we even started dating.” He said, his ears burning, and he knew he was blushing. 

Charlotte turned to him to meet his eyes for a long moment before she smiled shyly, a blush forming in her face. “I didn’t know that. I thought you only had a few pages worth of me.” 

“I didn’t want to creep you out with the other sketchbooks. I spent about a week sketching every time I had a spare second just to fill up one book to show you that wasn’t just full of you.” He admitted sheepishly. 

“You’re extremely adorable with a good dose of creepy,” Charlotte said as she turned to her side with a smile on her face. Steve turned to face her too. “But I guess I like you enough to keep you still.” 

“Geez, Baby-Doll, you really know how to make a fellar like me all sorts of wanted.” 

Charlotte threw her head back in laughter, quickly coming back to plant a smiling kiss right on his mouth. “God, I love it when you speak 40’s to me.”


	12. Make You Feel My Love

Two days before Steve and Charlotte moved to Washington DC for the indefinite future, the couple found themselves at the small restaurant where they had their first date, and where they always seemed to come back to. They had spent the evening at a small, almost decrepit theatre that was playing The Wizard of Oz, a movie that Steve had watched once upon a time, and Charlotte had never seen, commenting on the fact that she could not stand the thought of the movie being black and white. Steve had stared at her in disbelief for a moment before he made up his mind that, yes, that was going to be how they were going to spend their last true, free night in New York. 

He’d had other plans, maybe more romantic, more intricate ones that required reservations, and planning, and him getting down on one knee at just the right moment, but they’d been scrapped in favor of the moldy theatre and the heavy nostalgia that the movie had brought on. He had been excited at first, telling Charlotte about how there was no way she would not like it while she smiled up at him, holding onto his hand as they walked around the city before their showing. 

And then the movie had begun and he was breathless with the realization that the last time he had seen the movie was in a theatre very much like the one he was sitting in (perhaps less moldy and shady looking, but the same), with Bucky next to him and a small bag of popcorn that they had both chipped in to buy. And it felt like that had been only a few years, like he was still small and sickly, and not at all like over 70 years of cold had passed and gone without him noticing until Charlotte laid her head against his shoulder, murmuring about how he was hogging the popcorn, and he could breathe again. 

“I mean, it wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t great, or mediocre. It was just…eh,” Charlotte made the sound, with a shrug as she looked through the menu in front of her. She always read through it intently, as if she would order something different ever single time, even when they both knew she’d order the same rabbit cacciatore she always did. 

“I’m pretty sure that sound is mediocre,” Steve replied, taking a sip of his water. 

“Eh.” Charlotte responded with a grin, briefly looking up at him before she went back to reading the menu. 

“And you just insulted one of the best pieces of cinematography ever made,” Steve went on. “I’m not even sure I can still be with you if you can’t like it as much as I do. It’s kind of a deal breaker for me.” 

Charlotte sighed in a resigned sort of way but the twinkle in her eye gave away her amusement at the situation, “Can you at least break up with me after dinner? I’m trying to at least get free rabbit out of this whole mess of a date.” 

“How dare you! It was a good date.” Steve huffed, not at all offended, and very much amused. 

“Are you kidding me? You hogged all the popcorn, and we didn’t even make out during the movie! It’s only a successful date when you get kicked out of a theatre for public disturbances involving some sort of depravity.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not Tony Stark.” Steve deadpanned. 

And Charlotte laughed at his response, and this is why Steve loved her. Because she laughed, even when there didn’t seem to be anything to laugh at. She was happy, and Steve, by default, was happy in her presence. “I’m into blonds, anyway.” She replied with a wink after her laugh had subsided. 

Before Steve could respond, or even blush, a waiter, a lanky teenage boy, the same one as always, came by to take their orders. 

“The usual, miss?” He asked with a polite smile. 

Charlotte blushed to the roots of her hair, and Steve grinned. “It’s so sad when people know what you’re going to get.” She said, but sheepishly added a confirmation to the order. 

The boy laughed, quickly jotting down Steve’s ever changing order before disappearing into the kitchen. 

There was a lapse in conversation, where both just stared at each other, with Charlotte’s smile getting wider and more mischievous by the second, and Steve eyebrows raising higher. 

“What?” Steve finally caved, smiling. 

And Charlotte just shrugged, seeming to think about her answer before she responded. “You’re going to propose tonight. Or were. Are? Maybe?” 

“Do you want me to?” Steve asked, because he knew by now she knew him enough to read him like a book. 

She shrugged again. “You’re not going to ask how I know?” 

“You always seem to know everything. I don’t even question it anymore.” 

They stared at each other for a bit more before Charlotte broke the silence. “Well, if you must know-” 

“I wasn’t asking.” Steve grinned. 

“You were. I could feel it in my liver-” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Stop interrupting!” 

Steve raised his arms as if to call a truce, smiling innocently at Charlotte’s mock glare. 

“As I was saying, my mother called me some time ago...” Charlotte looked at him expectantly, believing that he would finish off the conversation for her. Steve wasn’t; this was to much fun. 

“I’m not interrupting.” And Steve knew he had an ear splitting grin on his face. He was happy with just the idea of being able to banter back and forth with Charlotte and knowing that she could take it all and give it back even harder was refreshing. He looked forward to the day he could tease her for the rest of their lives. 

“Asshole,” Charlotte coughed into her fist, and Steve’s grin grew wider. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really catch that.” 

“I said you called my mother to ask if her and my dad would like to meet you for dinner while you were in Phoenix for a couple of hours for a flight layover. Said you had some stuff to talk about.” 

“uh-huh.” Steve nodded his head in confirmation, trying to act as innocently as he could while he took a sip of his water. The waiter came over to drop off their plates at that moment, so there was a bit of lapse in conversation as they traded bits from each other’s plates for taste. 

After they settled (there was a bit of fork wrestling when Charlotte discovered Steve’s pasta had mushrooms and that she wanted them all), Charlotte turned brown eyes at him again, staring at him with a certain tilt of her chin that told Steve she wasn’t planning on doing any more talking if he wasn’t willing to share. 

He caved, finally, after staring at her right back, knowing that he had lost that particular battle the moment she widened her eyes at him. And Steve was smart enough to know that, by now, Charlotte knew what those eyes did to him. 

“We were coming back from Brazil two weeks ago, and I asked the team if it was alright if we made a pit stop in Arizona. I told you I wanted to do this the right way.” 

Charlotte smiled in triumph, and then her eyes shone in amusement. “My mom said my dad’s got a crush on you now. And that if I say no, I should let you know that she’s willing to divorce my dad if you’d take her. My dad approves only if you’re willing to take him as a husband too. I hung up then because the call started getting weird and there was too much giggling going on from their side.” 

Steve blushed, and Charlotte suddenly grabbed the hand he had resting by his plate. She ran her thumb over the knuckles and smiled shyly at him. Charlotte didn’t initiate touching a lot of times, especially in the public sphere, so the tender touch made him smile shyly right back at her. And he was suddenly struck with the realization that they could be so close, so in love, and still make each other have the fluttering of butterflies in their stomach. 

“You said that you weren’t asking for my hand because that was all mine to give.” 

“Feminist dad, remember?” Steve reminded her. “Independent you. Your yours to give.” 

“And that you loved me.” Charlotte continued, her eyes suddenly brighter than before. 

“I love you.” Steve said with earnest. 

“I know.” Charlotte responded with a smile and Steve smiled because he understood that reference. She loved him, but she didn’t need to say it. 

Charlotte let go of his hand then, taking a bite of her rabbit and Steve began to eat again. 

There was more silence for a bit, but it was welcomed. Charlotte could be a chatterbox sometimes, giving Tony a run for his money if she tried hard enough, but also treasured silence as much as Steve sometimes did. The familiarity of having a meal with each other, not saying much but just in each other’s presence, was something they’d long ago accomplished. And he knew to an outsider they might sometimes look boring, even disengaged with each other, but Steve didn’t think this was a fair assessment. Silence meant, at least to them as a couple, that they were content in each other’s presence. That inane small talk didn’t need to be made. Besides, half the time, Charlotte’s keen ear was tuning into someone else’s conversation around them, and she would entertain Steve’s with other people’s problems when they took a stroll afterwards. 

And silence also meant that Steve could think while Charlotte tried to sneakily and unsuccessfully steal some more of his mushrooms. 

Steve had spent quite a bit of time rehearsing a speech in which he declared, in no uncertain terms, how much Charlotte meant to him. The words were cheesy, as if they were from a bad romantic comedy. But Steve was a man from the ‘40’s and while he was more attuned to feelings than perhaps some other men from that era had been (he’d been raised by a strong female, after all), declarations of love from his part usually came in the form of flowers, or a handmade pocket journal he would pick up during a mission in India. He liked holding hands, enjoyed the fact that Charlotte let him lead her with a soft hand on her lower back, but “I love you’s” were scarce from both parties. 

Charlotte communicated with blunt statements like, “have fun,” which meant, “take care,” when he was going away for a mission. Or, “You’re alive,” which translated to, “I’m glad you’re home.” In fact, her phone calls ended with a customary, “bye,” for everyone, her family included, but Steve knew she loved him, and her family, but that saying the actual words were for special circumstances. In fact, her love declarations usually came in the form of a light hearted comment on something they loved about each other, like when Steve called her, “doll,” and she would scoff but laugh afterwards, telling him she loved his ‘40’s lingo. 

As for their actual, “I love you’s,” they usually came when they were truly needed. When Steve was hurt, when Charlotte needed to be reminded that it wasn’t just her. The declarations were scarce, but sacred to them. 

So he made the decision then and there that his rehearsed speech, his love declarations, were synthetic to their relationship. They operated on a level that did not need constant reassurance, but one where promises (like not ending their relationship on the premise of simply being the noble hero) were not made lightly. And Charlotte never asked for promises, or for Steve to swear that he would come home safe, and not in a body bag. She was a realist in that she knew that Steve was a promise keeper, and that she could never ask him to make a promise on something like coming back home alive when she knew that could be broken. 

So he made promises. 

“I fell in love with you the day you yelled at Hill and told off Fury and then proceeded to tell me I was stuck with you.” Steve began. “And I knew I wanted to marry you on the day of your graduation. And I discovered just how selfish I could be if I was willing to stay with you even if it meant certain organizations knew about you.” 

“Steve…” Charlotte sighed, but he barreled on. 

“And I can’t promise you that I’ll grow old with you because my job doesn’t guarantee that. But I can promise you that I will try so damn hard to come to you every time I’m gone. I can promise that I will be your number one fan in everything you want to do, and that I won’t ask you to do anything more than love me. I can’t promise that I’ll remember to put the toilet seat down, or that I won’t get the sudden urge to trip you up just so that I can catch you and lift you like you hate so much. But I can promise to love you so dang much that you won’t even know what to do with all of the corniness.” 

He took the little velvet box he’d been carrying with him every time they had time for a date in hopes of finally proposing. He opened it, holding the box in one hand and her hand with the other, their eyes (hers a little brighter than normal) never leaving each others. 

“I would love to be able to call you my wife. If you’ll have me as your husband.” 

"I’d like that.” Charlotte breathed, and he was suddenly out of his seat, and Charlotte out of hers, and then they were hugging and Steve was peppering her face with kisses, and Charlotte was laughing. 

“The ring!” Steve suddenly exclaimed, reclaiming it from the table and taking it out of the decorative box. He got down on one knee, even if it was a few minutes too late, and took her left hand in his to place the ring on her finger. 

Charlotte looked panicked for a bit before she lowered to her knees in front of him with a shake of her head, taking his head in between her hands to whisper a, “you don’t hafta,” into his lips. He slipped the ring onto her finger as they slowly kissed, and Steve could vaguely hear a few cheers and the sound of clapping from the other people in the restaurant. 

Steve smiled, standing up and grabbing Charlotte’s hands to help her up, inclining his head towards the other patrons in the small restaurant before his eyes found their way to Charlotte again, who was looking right back at him. 

“You haven’t even looked at it,” Steve said, squeezing her left fingers. And Steve was nervous because Charlotte wasn’t very big on jewelry, but he’d wanted something beautiful, and, to be honest, something that reminded him of old times. 

“Haven’t looked at-right. Yeah. Ring.” 

It had been an (almost) impulse buy. He had passed by a small local vintage (and that term seemed laughable to him) store in Brooklyn when the ring had caught his eyes from the window display. The salesman had told him it was a ring from the 1920’s, art deco, he had called it. It was perhaps a bit flashier than he should have looked for, with a larger diamond in the center, and two smaller one (one north and the other south of the center one) surrounded by maybe twenty even smaller ones on a thin white band. He’d called Tony, whom he knew might know much more about these things, and the man quickly met up with him, exclaiming in the background that he had important Avengers business, and that “no, Pepper, of course I am not going to go to the meeting. Captain’s orders,” and before he could protest that this could wait for when Tony wasn’t busy, the man was telling him he was suiting up and on his way. 

When he arrived, and after a brief tangent on marriage and exactly why Tony didn’t believe in it as an institution, the billionaire had quickly moved on to rattle off a list of facts that Steve could not have cared less about, only truly listening in until Tony declared the diamonds good, and the platinum good, before the billionaire began haggling back and forth with the salesman. Steve ended up paying a lot more than he thought a ring should cost, but he’d known it had to be the one. 

And he knew that Charlotte wasn’t much into jewelry (she wore a watch, and earrings, not much else), and even less into things that sparkle, but the ring, for whatever reason, had Charlotte’s name written all over it. He could picture her wearing it, the one piece of jewelry that would stand out amongst everything else. The one thing that screamed that she was very much loved by someone else, and, perhaps if he were truthful to himself, the one thing that would scream that she was his, and his alone. It was a man thing, he supposed, knowing that his girl had a piece of jewelry that meant she was taken to any other man out there, and that the size and even the shine of it meant that he was capable of taking care of her. 

Of course, he would never, not even under the penalty of death and torture, admit this out loud because he knew Charlotte enough to know that she would not share in this sentiment. Besides, Steve figured, she knew everything. He was sure she was smart enough to infer all of this by herself, but he hoped she was in love with him enough to overlook the sentimentality of proprietary behind the ring. 

“Oh, it's gorgeous,” Charlotte mumbled, looking at the ring before she looked up at Steve with the slight hint of a frown forming. “This is too mu-” 

“No. Don’t. You like it, I like it. We’re getting married.” Steve stopped her because, no, the ring wasn’t too much for her. In fact , if she’d let him, he’d give her more than the ring. 

Charlotte grinned. "We're getting married."


	13. Smile

You make me smile like the sun... Uncle Kracker

Steve powered on his phone as he closed his locker room and smiled a tight, closed lip smile in acknowledgement at his team members exiting the locker room. He'd been in Russia for the past week and a half hunting down Hydra facilities (because that had become his life since his move to D.C.), and hadn't had any communication with Charlotte at all. Usually, he'd turn on his phone to be greeted with a text or two from Charlotte, mostly asking him to pick up something from the supermarket if he was in the country, with a text following a "never mind, see ya later," text a few hours from the original one.

He had 57 unread messages from his fiancée, which made him frown in worry as he exited the locker room and made his way towards the parking garage.

OUTTA MILK. IF YOU GET HOME BEFORE ME, GET SOME—CO

NEVERMIND. I GOT IT—CO

He smiled at the familiarity of the first two before he opened the third.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT DOGS?—CO

ON A RELATED NOTE: HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT DOGS INSIDE THE APARTMENT?—CO

AND BY DOGS, I JUST MEAN ONE—CO

UNLESS YOU'RE COOL WITH MORE, THAN I MEANT IT IN THE PLURAL FORM—CO

Steve could see where this was going, and he grinned as he located his motorcycle. He stood by it, however, in favor of continuing to read the messages.

I FOUND A DOG—CO

AND BY THAT, I MEAN THAT HE FOLLOWED ME HOME ON THE WAY FROM THE SUPERMARKET—CO

HE LOOKS HUNGRY—CO

I TOLD HIM HE COULD STAY THE NIGHT IF HE WAS GOOD—CO

Steve was now 90% sure he was going to come home to a fiancée and a dog.

LOOK AT HIM!—CO

The next few texts were pictures and videos of a white and tan spotted dog grinning goofily at the camera. The dog looked like he could use a couple of more meals on him, but he was a pretty big dog from what he could tell. It was definitely a mutt, since it didn't quite look like a pitbull, but it could have some in him.

And from what he could gather from a video message he opened, he was missing a tail, but his whole posterior would wag every time Charlotte would say hi to him from the other side of the camera.

I'VE NAMED HIM. WE'RE KEEPING HIM.—CO

The message was accompanied with Charlotte making a ridiculous voice as she called for "Timber" and the dog (now named Timber, and Steve knew he was now definitely the proud owner of a dog) responded happily, grinning goofily as he seemed to do in every picture and video Charlotte sent him and wagging his behind for Charlotte.

SPOKE TO LANDLORD. TOLD ME HE DOESN'T CARE AS LONG AS HE'S NOT A BOTHER-CO

There were four days without any texts, before he opened the last one, sent that morning.

MISS YOU—CO

That last text seemed out of place from Charlotte, but not entirely unfounded. He had been on assignments back to back for the past couple of months since their move to D.C. but never such long ones. Usually, he was gone for four days at the maximum, before coming home for a day or two and being sent out again when new intel would come in.

And Charlotte was used to that. She'd found a job at a law firm, just as an assistant in helping to put together cases for the lawyers, but she loved her job, and it paid well enough that she was paying her student debt on time. Of course, Steve had taken over paying all the bills, had paid off the apartment (and Charlotte had been furious about that, as he had suspected she would be), and while Charlotte had disputed all this, he'd compromised with her. She bought groceries, and whatever other necessities they needed, and Steve didn't object to her buying him clothes or paying for take-out when neither felt like cooking.

But he'd never been gone this long, and he missed her too.

Steve smiled before he typed a quick text telling her he was on his way home, and started the engine on his motorcycle.

By the time he got home, it was dark outside, and around the time when Charlotte either started making dinner (and there was a lot of pre-made stuff involved in that process), or started looking through take-out menus to order from.

Before he opened the door, he heard a bark, the scrapping of paws and nails against hard wood flooring, and Charlotte's laughter, and he suddenly felt warm, overcome by pure, unadulterated happiness, the kind he felt when he was with Charlotte.

As soon as he opened the door, he was accosted by an over excited dog, who immediately raised himself onto his hind legs to put his paws against his upper abdomen and attempted to lick and slobber as much as he could reach towards his face.

"I swear to Zeus, one day it's going to be a robber opening the door, and this boy will still kiss him to death." Charlotte smiled, patting the dog's waggling behind in the process. The dog responded quickly, getting off of Steve and circling around Charlotte, barking in excitement once before bumping his head against her leg. "Hi," Charlotte breathed against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He responded quickly, wrapping his arms around her middle quickly, crushing her to him, kissing her deeply. "Hi," he mumbled against her neck, taking a long whiff of the honey and grapefruit scent that followed Charlotte everywhere. "missed you."

"Ditto," he heard her mumble, before the dog nipped at his jeans and whined. "I got us a dog, and I named him so we can't get rid of him now."

"Didn't think so," he said detangling himself from her, and taking a good look at her. "And you also cut your hair."

"I got gum stuck on it, and the lady didn't understand the concept of a trim," she responded, tucking a short strand of hair behind her ear. "It's short."

"I like it," he said, pulling at a stray shoulder-length lock.

Charlotte grinned, taking his hand in one of hers to guide him towards their kitchen, catching Timber's collar by the other on her way "Good, 'cause I do too."

They fell into comfortable chatter after that, Charlotte asking him if he wanted to go straight to bed, and urging him to sit down but he refused in favor of helping her chop vegetables and manning the stove while Charlotte asked him as much as she could about his assignment, struggling with the bread she was trying to bake as she did so. Timber spent his time between putting his paws up against the sink to sniff around the counter tops, and bumping his head against Charlotte's legs.

"How did you even get gum stuck in your hair, anyway?" Steve asked eventually.

"I fell asleep with it in my mouth like a total derp." Charlotte admitted with a faint blush, mock glaring when Steve let out a laugh.

"I leave for more than a couple of days and-"

"Oh, shut up! It would've happened eventually, anyway. 'Twas my destiny."

"Is that what you tell yourself every night?" Steve asked with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. And I sleep like a baby, thankyouverymuch." Charlotte grinned back, hip checking him out of the way to put the bread in the oven.

After straightening out, Charlotte went on to hug him from behind, squeezing tight for a few seconds before she loosened her hold a bit. "I really did miss you." She mumbled into his back.

Steve grinned. Charlotte wasn't usually one for open confessions, and he felt a bit playful. "I can tell. I'm out of the house for a few days and you get a dog."

She jabbed him with a finger on his side and a bump of her head against his back. "Watch it mister. It might be a man I get next time."

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I can practically feel you rolling your eyes, Rogers. I'll have you know, a very handsome man flirted with me at Starbucks the other day. Betcha thought the ring on my finger would be a deterrent. Think again." And Steve knew she was grinning against his back.

Steve continued chopping bell peppers, a gesture meant to make him appear nonchalant, his grin widening. "Doesn't count if you didn't flirt back, Owens."

"How would you know I didn't flirt back, huh? I got game still."

At this, Steve let our a surprised and loud laugh. Charlotte jabbed him again, and let go of him in order to walk around him to stand next to him, Timber following her movements, standing between her and Steve and looking back and forth as if he knew words would be exchanged soon.

She was grinning.

"You don't know how to flirt, doll." Was all Steve said, giving her an exaggerated wink, before he proceeded to chop some onions. From his peripheral vision, he saw Charlotte's open mouth before she began sputtering.

"Screw you! I so know how to flirt! You only think I don't know how to flirt 'cause I've never flirted with you. Also, your point is totally mute because you don't know how to flirt either. And you never even notice when people flirt with you to begin with."

Steve set his knife down and turned to her, leaning a thigh against the counter, and crossing his arms. Charlotte's eyes quickly turned to them (she had a thing for his arms, and he knew it, and damn it if he sometimes didn't cross his arms for the heck of it), before she blinked and gave him a mock glare, trying hard not to smile.

"Ok. Flirt with me. Give me your best. I'll tell ya if it works."

"You're not ready for my best." Charlotte said, tilting her chin up at him.

Steve let out another laugh. "You're stallin', doll."

She stared him down for a bit, as she was known to do when she was thinking of what to say next before she smiled, and lowered her eyelashes at him. He grinned wider, and raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, handsome" Charlotte intoned, her voice a bit lower, and perhaps a bit huskier than usual, and, while Steve was still grinning, he knew that Charlotte noticed his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow his suddenly dry mouth.

"Are you rationed? Because-" And Steve was suddenly laughing, perhaps the hardest he'd ever laughed in a long time, and Charlotte was grinning, but jabbing him with her finger again, telling him she needed to finish. "Because I've got a ticket with your name on it. You know, 'cause you need one to get rations, and whatnot. And I'd like to get my share of you."

And Steve laughed harder still, his arm going around his heaving stomach, his unoccupied hand going to prop himself up against the counter. He could hear Charlotte laughing along with him, and Timber barking, and circling around them erratically.

"Is that-is that how you get men?" Steve asked in between laughter. "You do know that you're not-you're not supposed'ta explain what you just said, right, doll?"

"Irrelevant. The point was to get you to laugh. And you did, so now you're totally in love with me, 'cause the ice was broken."

"Because I laughed at you?"

"With me." Charlotte corrected him, bumping him out of the way so she could continue chopping vegetables.

And the night went on in much the same fashion, joking with each other, laughing more than Steve remembered doing in the last week and a half, and sharing about each other's week (as it turned out, Charlotte hated just about everyone in her office except for the security guard, with whom she got along just fine; and this all made for great conversation).

After dinner, they went out for a walk around the block with Timber, who seemed particularly interested in making every lamp post and tree his own, with Charlotte stopping briefly for him, and Steve repeatedly telling her that couldn't be normal ("And what are you, now, Steve? A dog expert?" Charlotte would ask him with an eye roll).

Timber ended up planting himself in the middle of a sidewalk half-way back home, rolling over and looking up at the couple with a pleading expression.

"He does that. He's decided he hates walking back home. He has a thing for the dramatics, don't you baby?" Charlotte said, the last part directed at Timber, bending down to pick the dog up, before Steve steered her off to get him himself.

"You're enabling him." Steve told her, hoisting the dog into a fireman's carry.

"Oh. I'm sorry, who's carrying him right now?" Charlotte replied with a grin, to which Steve rolled his eyes, closing them briefly when Timber turned to him and began licking at his face.

By the time they got back to their apartment complex, Timber had slathered Steve with a thick coat of slobber, while Charlotte laughed every time Steve would flinch when the dog's tongue would get too close to his mouth.

"Hey Sharon!" Charlotte suddenly exclaimed as she wrestled her hand inside Steve's pocket for their apartment's key.

"Hi," a blonde woman that Steve vaguely recalled seeing in passing called back from down the hall.

"This is Steve," Charlotte motioned towards him and Steve called out his greeting.

The woman smiled, and bid them goodbye, disappearing into her apartment before much else was exchanged.

"I had to point you out. I'm pretty sure she thinks I made you up when I told her I lived with my fiancé since she's never seen you. I've been trying to ask her out to coffee or something, but she always has something to do." Charlotte shrugged, opening their door.

Steve set Timber down as soon as they crossed into the threshold of the apartment, and the dog took off towards the dog bed by the decorative fireplace in the living room, turning round it before settling down with a big yawn.

Steve raised his eyebrows, and Charlotte grinned up at him, grabbing his hand to hold. "We got a routine established."

"He doesn't sleep in our bed?" Steve asked, letting go of her hand to snake his arm around her waist to begin steering her towards their bedroom. He was surprised by this particular fact, already resigning himself to argue against the dog sleeping with them, especially since they barely even got to sleep together as it was.

"Surprisingly, he's not a big cuddler. At night, anyway. I don't think he's ever had a real dog bed, so I think he appreciates it." Charlotte shrugged, and put her arm to hold him still when he went to kiss her once inside their bedroom. "Nope. You've got Timber slobber all over your face."

Steve groaned, but suggested, with a sudden grin, "Shower?"

And Charlotte grinned, before letting a loud squeal when he went to pick her up, grinning boyishly down at her before saying, "Hey, say, did I just sweep you off your feet?"

Charlotte laughed hard, pressing her face against the side of his neck, murmuring about him being too cheesy for her.

"But you love cheese." Steve responded, setting her down on the bathroom counter, and taking her shirt off.

Charlotte fell into another fit of laughter, and Steve grinned because he could see this being what the rest of his life looked like, with Charlotte making him smile like an idiot, walking a dog that didn't actually allow himself to be walked, and long showers, and equally long nights with Charlotte.

Just the thought of you can drive me wild... Uncle Kracker


	14. Ain't No Other Man

Steve was in the middle of somewhere that Charlotte couldn't know about (not that she particularly cared to know; knowing meant that her worries would be cemented to the reality of a place, and she wouldn't be able to cope with that), and she didn't know what to do with herself. She'd been working, studying, volunteering, and then working some more since she could remember, so being a recent graduate, with no job and having quit her recent one for her impending move to Washington D.C., Charlotte felt bored, almost anxious in her idleness.

No, idleness was not the word. She'd been doing things. She'd started packing some of her things, though she was holding out her hope for Steve arriving back from Somewhere soon enough so that he would do the heavy lifting. Charlotte was no damsel in distress, but she was also not a martyr. If Steve insisted that he wanted to help her with her things, then so be it. Plus, it was more time spent with her dork of a boyfriend, so Charlotte couldn't complain too much.

She had also been baking. Charlotte hated cooking, something that her mother couldn't understand. Charlotte's mother, an aspiring chef once before she got pregnant with Charlotte and married her high school sweetheart in a shot gun wedding, loved cooking. Naturally she had expected Charlotte to join her in the kitchen to pass down her cooking skills, yet Charlotte had refused early on. She supposed it had been unconscious at first, but if Charlotte had been honest with herself, her reasons as she had gotten older had taken a more feminist twist. She'd see her mother cook for 800 elementary school children every day, and then come home to prepare them a meal as well every single day. She would see how her mother would go thrift shopping for new kitchen supplies when she could, and would photocopy recipe books from the library to imitate the cooking in her own home. And she would see the frustration in her mother and the longing in her eyes when she'd watch those cooking shows she loved.

And Charlotte did not want that for herself. So she'd refused all her childhood and even on the rare holiday she'd go back home to actually go near the kitchen unless she was a willing participant and at least one of her brothers was in there too. Because while Charlotte loved and admired her mother, Charlotte didn't want to live with a deep set longing in her eyes, even when she talked about how much she loved being a mother and a working woman and homemaker.

The kitchen, to Charlotte, meant broken dreams, and longing, and everything her mother missed out on when she'd gotten pregnant, so Charlotte would stay far away from it if she could.

Unless she was baking. Baking was the exception, Charlotte told herself, because one couldn't possible nourish and feed a family on cookies and cakes. So baking was a skill that didn't scream homemaking in her eyes, so Charlotte would bake. Steve, for his part, didn't seem particularly bothered by her baking, eating anything she'd put in front of him, only questioning whether she knew the oven was connected to a stove for actual cooking once when he'd come over for dinner at her place and she'd presented him with a loaf of bread, and Chinese take-out.

She'd raised an eyebrow at him, and he'd blushed and stammered that he didn't mean it like that, that he could care less if she cooked; he was just curious. So she'd told him she wasn't her mother, as if that explained everything, and Steve raised his own eyebrow at her, but didn't ask again. And later, months after that, she'd told him all about her fear of the kitchen when he'd had a nightmare, and they were both on the floor of his room at Stark Tower, and he'd looked at her, told her he'd eat cooking and cakes and loafs of bread and take-out for the rest of his life if it meant she was happy. And looking into his earnest blue eyes, still a bit hazy with that thousand-yard stare he'd sometimes get in the middle of the night when it was just the two of them, she'd cried because, a small part of her, the one that told her she was too young to be so in love, and way over her head with the whole marriage thing, had been afraid that he'd expected a perfect wife. One that cooked.

And that was that. She continued baking, and Steve had begun cooking for her whenever they had a night in. And the kitchen was becoming less scary now, with Steve manning most of the things they cooked, and she would bake bread from scratch for them, and take over chopping ingredients sometimes when Steve would begin cursing under his breath (and curse, did he) when (not if) the food would begin to burn.

But she digressed. It was late August, she wasn't in law school, she'd baked enough to give diabetes to a small army, and Charlotte was bored.

Just as she was contemplating on baking another pie to go along with the three other ones she had cooling by the window, next to the chocolate chip cookies, her phone vibrated against her back pocket signaling a text message. She opened the message with some difficulty (the cracked screen, and the slow processor didn't help any) but huffed out a laugh when she saw the contents.

It was a picture text from none other than Tony Stark (and no, she still couldn't believe she had his number, much less that the man casually texted her from time to time) which depicted a half melted Starbucks cup of iced coffee with the caption, "bears no resemblance to your iced Americano," and a slew of emoticons that she could not begin to discern, including rocket ships, fire, and the dancing lady.

MINE'S A LOT BLONDER, AND MUCH MORE DELICIOUS-CO

EW-TS

Charlotte laughed again at his rapid response before she asked him if he wanted diabetes, and if so, she was on her way to the tower.

And that's how Charlotte found herself sitting next to Tony Stark on the terrace of his tower in New York City, a plate of cookies, an apple pie, and a cooler full of fancy imported beers in between them as they sunbathed.

Tony popped open two bottles of beer before passing one towards her, which she took with a hum of appreciation. It was their fifth, and while Charlotte was no light weight, she was a bit too relaxed. Tony was well on his way too, although she suspected he'd started way before she'd arrived.

"I don't get it." Tony said after a while, both leaning back on the white leather recliners they'd dragged out into the terrace.

"That's scary," Charlotte agreed with a grin, as if she knew what he was saying, and Tony snorted in amusement.

"I mean, you've got your whole youth in front of you, and somehow you're sticking with the 96-year-old man who wants the marriage and the family and the monotonous life of the suburbs." Tony said. "I just-I don't get it."

"I love him." Charlotte responded, and she could practically feel Tony roll his eyes.

"I've had t-shirts for longer than you two have been together, and I still can't quite commit myself to wear them for the rest of my life."

Charlotte took a swing of her beer, a bite out of a cookie, and turned to give him a deadpan look. "Please tell me you're not comparing my relationship to your t-shirt taste. Also, you're old. Of course your t-shirts are older than our relationship. Probably older than me." And she grinned because, sure, it was a bit rude, she knew, but she'd learned fast enough that one had to hit Tony just as hard or he'd walk all over you.

"Rude." Tony muttered around a cookie.

Charlotte smiled, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The day was nice, a bit too chilly for her, but after living most of her life in the hell summers of Arizona, everything seemed too cold for her so she wasn't complaining.

The sat in silence for a bit more, Tony seeming to have given up on the subject.

"The sex is great," Charlotte eventually muttered, and Tony hummed as if in agreement.

"Did the serum enhance everything?" Tony asked, before quickly adding over Charlotte's laughter, "Purely scientific. That was a purely scientific question."

"You'd have to ask him. Didn't know him before the six pack." She answered diplomatically, laughter still in her answer. "But I'd imagine-"

"Stop. We're not going there."

"You asked!" She protested, still laughing lightly, but thanking him briefly when he handed her another bottle.

More peaceful silence as the city bustled below them.

"We're not doing the family and suburbs thing, by the way." Charlotte felt compelled to tell him this.

"What? No 2.5 kids, dog and picket fence?" And Tony sounded more curious than condescending, so Charlotte answered honestly.

"Well, if you must know-and you really don't-I don't think we'll be doing the kids' thing for a long time. If at all. I'm not the kid type of person and…well, even if we were, we're not even sure we can or should have any."

And that was true. Steve had fears, and Charlotte understood. Because he'd been small and sickly, and then been injected with God-knows what, and then frozen, and who knew what kind of things that led to. He'd been honest with her when they'd talked about their future together and Charlotte had asked him if he wanted kids at all (half afraid that his answer would be yes, if she was being honest). So the truth had come out that Steve was afraid that any kid they would have would be like him before the serum, and if they weren't, that was even more scary, Steve had told her, because that kid's blood would be valuable, far too valuable, and Steve could never see himself justifying bringing a baby into a world where people would want him or her solely because of their blood.

And Charlotte had listened as he spewed his fears while they laid in bed that night, until he'd finished before she told him she didn't want, didn't need any children, and drew him closer, his head between her breasts as she stroked his hair. He had been sad, she could tell, and while she had never really thought about having children at all, she was sad all the same because her Steve had wanted some at one point; and he deserved them, more than anyone else in this world. Sure, she was biased because if she were asked, she'd always answer that Steve deserved all the happiness in the world and then some, but all the same, it had been a sad night for both of them.

But Tony didn't need to know all this. Charlotte knew he'd catch on, though, because the man wasn't called a genius for nothing, and really, people underestimated him when it came to feelings. The man was compassionate in his own weird way (mostly by throwing money at the situation, or threatening, but who was she to judge), and Charlotte would be the first one to say it was a disappointing that not many people saw this.

"There are doctors-" Tony began after a brief silence, but Charlotte cut him off.

"We're fine. Maybe one day, in the very distant future-like flying cars kindda future-I'll feel sad about it, and Steve will want a kid to finger paint with, and we'll think about it. Not right now, though." Some more silence, "Also, I should stop drinking. It's borderline disgusting how emotional this is getting."

"Downright vomit inducing," Tony agreed with a nod. "Seriously though…I can find some doctors whenever you guys say so. Shouldn't be too hard, really. And if that doesn't yield anything, there's other ways-"

"Where you not just questioning my life choices twenty minutes ago?" Charlotte cut him off before the man rambled on like he tended to do. If there was something the little interactions with Pepper Potts taught her, it was that a Tony train of thought needed to be cut off efficiently and in a timely manner if she wanted to hear the end of it.

Tony shrugged. "I've changed my mind. I had an epiphany in which there are little Capsicles running around throwing frisbees and saying 'please' and 'thank you' for everything. Maybe helping old ladies cross the street. I want to live to see that." Tony turned to look at her and she raised her eyebrows in amusement but didn't comment. "Also, I call dibs on naming your first child. It's going to be a boy and his name will be glorious. Something like Anthony. Tony for short."

Charlotte laughed loudly. Setting her beer bottle on the ground so she wouldn't spill it all over herself. "And if it's a girl?"

"Antonia. Toni with an 'i' for short." And the genius was smiling that little smirk that Charlotte had never seen in any public magazine. It was carefree and genuine and amused all at the same time, and Charlotte was struck with the realization that Tony was her friend, even if they'd only known each other for very little and she was sure he didn't see her as one. So she smiled at him before she said, "I'm gonna miss you in D.C., Tony."

They made eye contact for a bit before he made a grab for her beer bottle on the ground. "That's it. You're officially cut off." He gave her a mock sneer. "You disgust me."

Before she could respond, her phone went off in her lap. She picked it up, briefly smiling when Steve's picture popped on the screen.

"Thank you for calling your New York Piggly Wiggly. You catch 'em, we fry 'em. How may I help you?" She picked up, smiling at the confused "uh…" on the other side of the line.

Tony cackled next to her, handing her another beer bottle.

"Just kidding. This is obviously Beyoncé." And Charlotte grinned when Tony continued chuckling.

"Ok. You're a bit drunk." Steve intoned, but he sounded amused to Charlotte so she hummed in agreement.

"Not that much. Just a little bit. You back in the states? Alive? All four limbs?"

"You mean five?" Tony asked beside her with an evil grin and Charlotte gave him a disgusted look that bordered on amused.

"Is that Stark?"

"Yes." Charlotte answered at the same time Tony leaned over to say, "No. It's Brian Johnson."

"Right. I'll be at the tower in an hour or so. Unless you two are at a bar…?"

"Nope. At the tower with fancy imported beer that tastes like urine a little. It's supposed to be the good stuff, though, so who's my poor man's palate to judge?"

Steve chuckled. "I'll pick up pizza?"

"I knew there was a reason I kept you."

They hung up then and silence fell between the pair again before Tony spoke up.

"It's astonishing how utterly normal you are. Literally, nothing on your record." He turned to give her a grave look. "I looked you up."

Charlotte rolled her eyes because it wasn't at all surprising. She knew SHIELD knew all about her, Tony Stark knowing so too wouldn't be surprising at all. Totally expected, at that point.

"You found nothing because there is nothing. I've literally just worked and gone to school for what seems to feel like my whole life. No time of stupid decisions."

"Wowsie." Tony said, an exaggerated lilt in his tone. "Isn't suburbia supposed to be the perfect hub for debauchery and drugs?"

"I didn't know you grew up in suburbia!"

"Touché." They leaned over and touched their bottles.

Steve arrived an hour later with three pizza boxes in one hand, and a 24 pack of water under his other arm. He set the things down on the coffee table Tony had dragged earlier for Charlotte to set her desserts in, and went in to lean down and kiss Charlotte.

"Hey." He whispered against her lips.

"Hey yourself." She whispered back, dragging him in for a deeper kiss. She could vaguely hear Tony gag in the background, so she stuck her hand out and flipped him the bird.

Steve pulled away with a slight frown though, and before Charlotte could say anything, he said, "You taste like piss."

Tony snorted in laughter in the background, and Charlotte responded, "I'm more worried about the fact that you know what piss tastes like." Steve rolled his eyes, but kissed her temple before reaching for one of the pizza boxes. He sat down at the arm of her recliner, handing her a slice before he grabbed one himself. "Besides," Charlotte added, "you've kissed me with tuna breath before with only minor complaining in my part, so we're totally even."

"You two disgust me." Tony interject with a sneer with more amusement than malice behind it, one of the pizza boxes in his lap already, and a new bottle of beer in his hand. "Seriously. It's not even sweet. Just disgusting."

"Aw." Charlotte dragged on with a sarcastic tone, and Steve chuckled, rearranging himself so that he sat in the recliner, with Charlotte between his legs. "Relationship goals?" Charlotte turned and asked Steve.

He grinned, a twinkle in those baby blues of him, and Charlotte was struck with how much she truly loved him. "Total relationship goals."


	15. Miss Independent

Charlotte didn't like the looks of the pretty guy sitting in one of her tables by the diner's window.

Correction: Charlotte very much liked what he looked like, she just didn't like his type. In general.

In her opinion, they tended to be meatheads that spent their whole time at the gym, weighed ounce by ounce their protein intake, and frowned upon the idea of microwaving donuts (a sin, in her opinion). And this guy looked like it. He was tall, built like a tree, or a swimmer, all narrow waist and broad shoulders (Charlotte had a thing for broad shoulders), a straight posture, and pretty blue eyes.

So she steeled herself before she made her way over to his table, straightening out her back, squaring her shoulders, and plastering a smile on her face before she greeted with with a "Sir," just for the sake of politeness, and aloofness. The guy looked barely older than her so there was no need for the "Sir," yet she said it anyway.

And that's when her assumptions were proven wrong. Sure, the blonde guy was a little too buff and tall for her liking, but his shy smile and hunched shoulders as he scanned the menu in front of him made her think that maybe he wasn't the meathead she thought he'd be.

And he was polite, a bit unsure of himself when he asked her what her favorite was for breakfast, and even sweeter when he took her suggestion.

What really won her over, however, were the little doodles he left on a napkin after he'd left. They were different images made with a ballpoint pen he'd taken out of his pocket at one point or another, one of a wilting flower, another of a slice of pie, a steaming coffee, and, perhaps the most impressive one, a small portrait of the older couple that had been sitting near him, their heads close together as they read the newspaper.

Charlotte kept it, and taped it to the side of her locker in the backroom.

And Charlotte didn't do nervousness. She'd decided a long time ago, when she was alone in New York City after having lived in Phoenix, Arizona her whole life, that she would stop being nervous. Being so got her nowhere, and New York was supposed to be a new Charlotte. A confident, more outgoing Charlotte who found herself roommates, and who made acquaintances that she could call friends if only for a night in the town, and who would not be intimidated by the pretty guy with the shy smile and the doodles.

But he made her a bit nervous. Not in the stuttering kind of way, but in the way that made her look forward to the next time he'd come in and leave his doodled-on napkins. So maybe she wasn't nervous. He made her feel excited, and happy and warm when he'd smile at her. He thanked her, and read the newspaper in actual paper form (which even she didn't do anymore), and smiled every time she'd walked past him.

She had a crush and she wanted to die of mortification.

But she wasn't in New York to meet a boy. She came to New York for school, and for an opportunity of becoming something better than what people expected of her. She wanted law school, and all-nighters, and internships from hell; she wanted it all, but the boy.

And sure, she'd tried to date before. She'd gone with Daniel to prom, had attempted to have some form of relationship with him, yet he was too nervous around her at the knowledge that they were on a date, and not just hanging out. And the one guy she had tried to date in New York, a pretty boy with a trust fund, with law school in the horizon, had expected way more of her than she was willing to do on a third date. So no, Charlotte didn't date.

So she convinced herself her small infatuation with the pretty boy, who she learned was Steve, was nothing. Because that's what it was. She was too-tall-Charlotte, too-curvy-Charlotte, too-outspoken-Charlotte, too-much-everything-Charlotte for someone like Steve to even take a second look at her.

Girls like Charlotte, she convinced herself one late night in the library after she had given up on studying and had found out she would have to sleep there as it was too late to get back to her apartment, didn't get boys like Steve. They got a career, convinced themselves they didn't need anyone, and eventually married a guy more out of necessity than love because by the point they noticed that they were not ideal for guys like Steve, it was too late, they were old with useless ovaries, and had one too many pets. That was Charlotte, and Steve, or anyone like him, for the matter, was not needed.

"I'll be dog lady," Charlotte muttered to herself, scribbling down research notes as she talked to herself. "I hear hairless dogs win prices. I could make a fortune."

The girl she was sharing a table with, probably a freshman judging by the full face of make-up, and general put-togetherness vibe the girl exuded, gave her a weird look. Charlotte returned it with a raised eyebrow, and the girl adverted her eyes.

Or you could ask him on a date, the little part inside Charlotte that was in total love with the idea of being with Steve Rogers whispered. Ok, well, if she weren't a complete asshole to him sometimes, than maybe he would be the one asking…

\-----

"Long day?" Steve asked as Charlotte refilled his cup of coffee.

"Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?" She questioned with a grin, laughing when he began sputtering out an apology.

"I didn't-I mean-"

"I'm teasing." She gave him a smile, looked around for her boss, and took a seat across from him. "It's been a long week, more like it. You?"

"Something like it…" He trailed off in the way Charlotte had come to mean he wasn't going to share much, and that was fine with her. He'd mentioned he worked as a government contractor once, so she wasn't surprised he kept most of his business to himself.

She hummed in agreement, and went to get up when the door jingled the signal for a new customer. "That was my way of asking you why you look like shit, by the way." She threw a grin over her shoulder.

She heard rather than saw Steve laugh before she preoccupied herself with tending to the gang of teenagers asking about coffee and cake.

\-----

Or if she knew how to flirt at all…

\-----  
"How did your finals go?" Was the first thing Steve asked her when she came over with the coffee carafe and a new cup.

She grinned. "Well, I didn't die, so that's always good."

"Always," Steve agreed with a grin of his own, and Charlotte almost forgot how to breathe when those pretty blue eyes of his shone at her.

They gazed at each other for a moment too long, before Charlotte cleared her throat. "How about you?"

"My finals? Didn't have any, so…"

"Ah. You think you're funny." She wagged her finger at him and he chuckled. "I meant, how are you?"

"Not dead."

"Always a good thing." She nodded solemnly, but cracked a smile soon after. "I hadn't seen you in a while. You could've been dead for all I knew."

"Is that a hint of worry I hear?" Steve smiled, and Charlotte, if she were any other woman, would've thought they were flirting a bit.

"Not for you. It's my tips I'm worried about." She dismissed with a smile, and Steve gave her a look.

"I see how it is," He said with a side eye, the boyish half smile Charlotte was almost in love with in place.

\-----

Or if she didn't beat around the bush as much, maybe grew a pair…

\-----

"Any plans for tonight?" Charlotte asked and almost slapped herself. If that wasn't cheesy, she didn't know what was.

"Not really," Steve responded, "and you?"

Charlotte, if she had been anyone else, would've been cool about the question and maybe turn it around and ask him if he wanted to make plans for the both of them. They could go to a bar, watch a movie. Go on a date. Anything.

But she was Charlotte, and while she may be confident in many other things, she wasn't when it came to boys. This boy in particular, anyway.

She shrugged. "I've got a Netflix queue I need to work through this summer before school starts, and I become a hermit again. And I've also got a bottle of wine I bought to celebrate with for finals, but I haven't gotten around to opening it, so…yeah." She finished lamely.

Steve nodded, and Charlotte could tell he was about to say something. A part of her, the tiny part she tried to forget even existed, woke up with a hopeful spark, and her chest suddenly felt a bit warmer at the thought that maybe he would ask to join her.

He opened his mouth as if to speak twice before he gave her a crooked smile, and took a deep breath. "Well, maybe-"

He was cut off by the shrill ring of his phone, and Charlotte deflated when he began speaking in a rapid tone, before setting his phone down after replying to whoever he was talking to that he would "be there soon."

"I, um, have to go, but-"

Charlotte panicked and shook her head. "Of course. The job calls. You're a busy man, I'm a busy woman, and I've got like three tables I still need to check on, and you've got the world to save, probably." She meant the last part as a joke, but she knew it fell on flat ears when he furrowed his brows. "You know…'cause you're a government contractor, and you probably do national security stuff, and…I don't know where I'm going with this, but I have an inkling I'm in no way, shape, or form actually describing what you do for a living."

With a weird look on his face still, he'd gotten up, and put down enough money to cover his bill and a tip on the table underneath a napkin with a doodle of a smiling dog before he gave her a crooked smile. "I'll see you next time?"

"I have nothing better to do, so I'll be here."

He left with one last crooked smile, one last twinkle in his eyes, and she let herself visibly deflate when the door closed behind him.

\-----

Or if she could just hold a normal heart-to-heart conversation…

\-----

"That's quite the shiner, there, dude." Charlotte remarked as she filled Steve's cup with coffee.

"You should see the other guy," He smiled, and Charlotte chuckled. "How was your week?"

Charlotte smiled tightly, because, well, it hadn't been that great. She'd been doing the math and trying to figure out her finances for the past couple of weeks for the upcoming school semester, when her parents had called her to ask her for help straightening out her brothers' finances as well. And, ok, she knew they were all poor, but there was something very depressing about trying to figure out how to pay tuition for three people. On top of that, she'd forgone going to Arizona that summer in the hopes of saving some money, and it'd been thrown on her face by her grandmother that very morning.

"I get it, grandmother, I'm going to hell because I'm a bad granddaughter who doesn't go home for the summer. Does my self-awareness make you feel any better? 'Cause it does me." And she'd made it worse when she'd sassed her that way, so the yelling continued and escalated for the better part of another half an hour before Charlotte finally hung up on her and turned her phone off. She loved her grandmother but the woman was going to be the death of her.

But he didn't need to know that. Probably didn't want to know that, nor would he ever, and she shriveled up a little a bit more on the inside at that thought.

"Incredibly mediocre," She answered, and asked him about his. He gave her the same answer and she snorted before calling him a liar. "Your black eye tells another story."

"Your pout tells another story," She gave him a frown and he shrugged, a small blush on his cheeks, and when he spoke, it was to his cup. "Your top lip does this pouty thing when you're angry."

Charlotte swore her heart skipped a beat or two, and her breath caught in her throat when Steve looked at her through his long eyelashes, his eyes searching hers for something, and Charlotte dared herself to not hope.

They maintained their gazes for a bit before she sighed. "It was crap. My week was complete and utter crap. Not my worse, but definitely in my top five of crappiest weeks."

"Mine too." He admitted, and both broke into a smile that Charlotte almost thought felt foreign on her face.

"Probably not as bad as the other guy's, though." She commented, raising an eyebrow and motioning towards his eye.

 

\-----

Than maybe she'd already had asked him herself.

\-----

So when Tony Stark and Dr. Bruce Banner walked into the door of her workplace, and Steve punched her manager and told her about Captain America, Charlotte almost dared not hope too much.

Because Steve Rogers was Captain America and he saved people for a living.

And she was Charlotte, The Waitress/Broke College Student, might-be-broke-right-about-now Charlotte that had nothing of substance to offer the world. She was too-tall-Charlotte, too-curvy-Charlotte, too-outspoken-Charlotte, too-much-everything-Charlotte for Steve Rogers.

But, danmmit, when the boy smiled…Well, the smile was enough to give her the courage to ask him to dinner, to steel herself, and for the first time in what felt like forever, be the confident Charlotte she'd forgotten to be for the past couple of months.


	16. Home

Charlotte knew there was something wrong the minute Steve walked into the apartment. She'd been painting a salvaged coffee table she's found at a garage sale the week before in the living room when he walked in, quickly greeting Timber who had propelled himself at him the minute the door had opened.

She knew something was off when he looked at her for a few seconds and took a big breath before casually greeting her and going straight to the kitchen. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, and stood up, taking the paint and brushes with her in case Timber came around. She found Steve leaning against the kitchen counter, staring pensively at the half full cup of water in his hands, Timber sitting patiently by his feet.

"You are the most dramatic man I know," she said with a small smile, leaning against the kitchen counter adjacent to his.

Steve gave her one of his crooked smiles, shaking his head before replying, "I thought I had introduced you to Tony Stark?"

"I stand by what I said."

Steve chuckled and gave her a pensive look.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and tilted her jaw. "Are you gonna spit out whatever it is that's bothering you soon…or…"

"Vanity Fair is running a piece on Captain America tomorrow."

Charlotte nodded. "Ok. And I'm guessing that Steve Rogers is involved."

Steve visibly rolled his shoulders, in the way he did when he was annoyed. "SHIELD says this is the best-case scenario, since they've had some control over what gets published." He was silent for a bit. "They've got a bit about you in there, too. With pictures and everything."

Charlotte nodded again, a bit at a loss for words, "Good ones, I hope."

"Charlotte…"

"What do you want me to say? I mean, it's not something we can control, right? It's happening, and I'm sad for you that this is getting out there, but it's not like there hasn't been intel on you or even me out there for a while now." Charlotte shrugged. "I'm more surprised this hadn't happened before now, to be perfectly honest."

"Yeah…" Steve acquiesced with a sigh, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"What else?" She asked, and laughed when Steve looked like he was going to protest. "Just spit it out."

"The Smithsonian is opening an exhibit next month. I guess they've been collaborating with SHIELD to put something together for a while now."

"Ok," Charlotte said, nodding her head again, and bending down to pet Timber who demanded attention for a bit. Steve, meanwhile, drank the rest of his water.

"We should call my parents, before they find out who I'm living with and marrying in the future via Facebook, or something."

While Charlotte shot a quick text at her mom asking when both of her parents would be available for a video call, Steve busied himself with making a sandwich and feeding pieces of ham to the whining dog by his feet.

He jumped slightly, though, when he felt Charlotte's strong fingers kneading at his tense muscles before he groaned in pleasure.

"You need to relax," Charlotte mumbled into his neck. "It's not that big of a deal, Steve."

Steve nodded, and stopped making his snack, putting all his weight into his arms against the counter, and letting Charlotte massage away at his back.

"Besides, who can brag that they're going to get married to man that already has a Smithsonian exhibit?"

"You know I don't like that."

"I know. It's super corny, but also needed. The Avenger's, as the media's calling you guys, are not very popular. SHIELD needs good PR, and you're the safest bet. Natasha and Clint won't compromise their identity, Bruce shouldn't really be flaunting his location, and Thor's not even on this planet right now. Tony…well, you know the kind of PR he attracts." Charlotte said with a chuckle in the end, digging the heel of her palm hard enough into his shoulder blades that Steve produced another groan before he sighed.

"I thought I wouldn't have to do the whole monkey show again after the ice, is all" He finally admitted and yelped a bit in protest when Charlotte pulled at him until he turned to look at her.

"I don't think you've ever let yourself be a monkey show-" she glared at him when he began protesting. "From my understanding, you didn't like what the government made you do, so you changed it and actually went into combat. I know you, Steve, and I know you wouldn't just let yourself be pushed around like that. So what if they're running a piece on you and opening an exhibit? You can decide that that is enough, and not do more. They can't force you to do tours or whatever it is you think they might have you do." Charlotte sighed, and stroked his cheek with her thumb. "And, as much as it pains me to say it out loud, we both know you're far more valuable in the field than in front of a camera."

He sighed again, and pulled her flush against him, giving her temple a lingering kiss, before he leaned down enough to bury his face into the crook of her neck.

\----------

That afternoon found Charlotte and Steve sitting in front of his laptop, staring at the image of her parents as they waited patiently for the couple to speak first.

"So, not really a big deal…" Charlotte started and Steve tried not to smile when he saw her dad lift an eyebrow (just like Charlotte would).

"Are you trying to tell us there's going to be a shot-gun wedding?" Charlotte's mom asked before her daughter finished, the beginnings of a bright smile visible.

"What?! No, thank you!" Charlotte exclaimed at the same time Steve shook his head in mild panic. Timber barked into his ear before he gave the side of his face a good licking, and Steve swatted lightly at the dog. "It's actually much…better?" She turned to Steve and he shrugged. "Better than a surprise child. Which we are not having. Ever." She finished with a nod, and her dad rolled his eyes.

"You keep saying that, kid." He said mildly before he asked, "so what's the better news, then?"

"Steve's old as heck," Charlotte began with a teasing smile, and Steve rolled his eyes good naturedly before he took over the conversation.

"I'm 96 years old, technically. Officially. I'm really 27 years old. Physically."

"What kind of drugs are you two doing?" Charlotte's mom asked with a frown, and Charlotte laughed breathlessly in the way she did when she was getting a bit nervous.

"We started off wrong," Charlotte mumbled to him, at the same time Steve said, "why would you start with my age?"

"Have you been watching the news lately?" Charlotte said after a silent conversation with Steve. "Specifically, have you been keeping up with the superhero stuff?"

Both of her parents stayed quiet for a while, sharing a long look with each other before her mother asked, "villain, or superhero?"

"Does he look like a bad guy?" Charlotte questioned lightly, biting her lip.

"You never know." Her dad answered. "It's a fine line superheroes walk." He said.

Charlotte didn't respond, but she grabbed Steve's hand in her own, which he squeezed lightly.

They'd had this superhero talk a few months back. It had been a passing conversation on the phone Charlotte had had on the phone with her dad, when he'd asked her if she had been keeping up with the Avenger's stuff that had come up on the news. Steve had been reading over files in the living room while Charlotte talked on the phone in the kitchen, where she was waiting on the cookies she was baking to come out of the oven. She'd told him she hadn't been paying much attention, and while Steve hadn't heard what her dad said, he could guess by the way she ended the subject with a fervent "they saved our asses dad, what would you have preferred? That they let the things kill more people just so that they could save the structural integrity of a few buildings? You can't be serious?!" that he wasn't too receptive to the work of superheroes.

"Which one?" Charlotte's mom finally asked, a resigned look on her face, a calming hand on her husband's arm.

"Captain America, ma'am." Steve answered, squaring his shoulders. "Vanity Fair is running a piece on it tomorrow, and we just wanted to make sure that you were the first to know. It wouldn't have been fair to find out later through a third party. And I would like to apologize for not saying anything before."

"Not that he needs to." Charlotte piped up, her chin tilted in the way she did when she was daring people into arguing with her.

"Did you just find out too?" Her dad asked, giving her an accusatory look, before leveling Steve with a galre.

"He told me before we even started dating." She responded, turning to Steve to give him a smile. "I've never cared much about it." There was more silence before Charlotte took a deep breath and said, "Steve's a good man. That's all that has ever mattered to me. All that should matter to you."

Steve saw his future mother in law purse her lips, squeezing her husband's arm when the man opened his mouth as if in protest and heard her say. "Ok," in the definitive way her daughter did.

Her father still seemed like he wanted to argue but stopped himself short when he saw his wife and daughter direct the same glare at him.

"Are you two flying in for Thanksgiving this year?" Charlotte's mother said, and with that, the conversation on Steve's identity was over.

\----------

"We could probably use that one for our Christmas cards this year." Charlotte commented lightly, pointing at one of the pictures on the magazine.

It was of the two of them sprawled on the grass by the Washington Monument, Steve with a sketch pad in front of him, and Charlotte running a lazy hand through Timber's belly, who was on his back, his mouth wide open, tongue out. The caption underneath the photo explaining who Charlotte was, with a small square zooming into the engagement ring on her left hand.

"The picture is so clear…" Steve mumbled, slightly troubled knowing that the picture could not have been taken from very far away considering the quality of it.

The next couple of pages were dedicated to an extensive biography on Steve Rogers, with pictures of him prior to the serum and before, and even never-before-seen pictures of the plane wreck where he had been found frozen. There was even a section dedicated to Bucky Barnes, one on his friendship with Howard Stark (and Steve rolled his eyes because he'd only technically met the man a couple of times, never enough to call him a good friend), and a section all about Charlotte, complete with speculation on how they had met, and a brief interview with the manager that Steve had punched for her.

\----------

Steve stared at Charlotte's back as she finished applying mascara, accentuating those dark eyes of hers, made more apparent by the bronze of the eyeshadow she had applied a few minutes earlier.

"Tony texted that he would be there tonight. I'm looking forward to seeing him again," Charlotte said from her seat by the vanity in their room, putting on a pair of strappy golden heels.

Steve hummed in acknowledgment. Charlotte stood up, and Steve could not help but let his eyes roam up her form, in just strapless bra and a nude colored pair of panties, her legs looking a mile long in the heels. "You know, we don't have to go…" he trailed off, meeting her eyes after staring at her chest for a bit too long.

"Yes, we do. This gala is for you, and everyone will be there." She responded, walking over to him with the red dress she'd bought the week before in her hands. "But mostly, we have to go because this dress is non-refundable, and I need an excuse to wear it. Now, help me zip up."

Steve groaned in discontent like a petulant child, but zipped her up, his hands straying a bit and cupping her breasts for a few seconds before she laughed and dislodged herself from him.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him when she tried to stray away, pulling her for a deep kiss before she could let go. "You look gorgeous," he told her, pecking at her lips until she smiled and laughed.

"I know," she said with a twinkle in her eyes, and a smirk. "Let's go."

\----------

They both stared in mild horror as the car SHIELD had sent for them stopped, and the driver told them her was dropping them of here. In front of them was a small walkway going up the stairs of the Smithsonian, flowers everywhere, and men and women dressed to the nines (and then some, if all the diamonds Charlotte could discern said something) mingling and talking to what appeared to be reporters of all types. The flashing of cameras and the microphones being passed around set up the scene nicely.

"Fuck me," Charlotte muttered under her breath, turning wide eyes at Steve.

Steve, in spite of himself, could not stop the small playful grin, and chuckled when Charlotte caught on and hit him on his arm with the back of her hand. "Stop being a pervert."

"Is there any way we can go in through a back entrance or something?" Steve asked the driver, but he shook his head and told them he had strict orders that the Captain had to walk and do some press time.

Charlotte's phone went off in that instant and she only answered it after checking the caller ID and telling Steve it was Tony.

"I have it in good authority that the car obstructing my grand entrance happens to be yours, so get a move on, Sweetcheeks." Steve heard Tony say over the phone.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and hung up, not even dignifying the call with an answer. Her phone started ringing immediately after, but she pointedly ignored it.

They sat in silence for a minute or two until the driver cleared his throat and told them they had to get going.

Steve squeezed Charlotte's hand in his, grabbed the back of her neck and gave her a tender kiss, whispering, "you really do look gorgeous."

"You do too," she mumbled back with a smile, pecked his lips once more, and declared, "ready when you are, Captain."

He took a deep breath, and got out, adjusting his jacket, before he extended his arm out for his fiancée.

\-----------

"We should've done shots before this," she leaned over and whispered in his ear, both making their way up a few steps to meet a vaguely familiar SHIELD agent that was waving them over to one of the reporters.

"Captain, this is Christine Everhart with Vanity Fair," the agent said by way of greeting. "she'll be conducting a brief interview right now, anyone else you talk to tonight will be up to you."

"And optional," Steve said with severity, staring down the agent, who nodded quickly. "Steve Rogers, ma'am. And this is my fiancée, Charlotte Owens." Charlotte smiled, and extended her hand after Steve was done shaking the reporter's.

"So pleased to meet you!" Christine said with a wide smile, before she dropped it, "now, let's get down to the point, since we only have a few minutes of your time, Captain, and we are dying to get to know you better. First question, why now? You've been unfrozen for a while now, so why come out now, of all times?"

"It's not so much that I wanted to come out into the public now, and you know that miss Everhart. You're magazine made sure I did." Steve answered with a severe tone that left no one guessing about his feelings towards the magazine as a whole.

"Certainly, though, it's easy to guess that perhaps this was the right timing for the Captain of the so-called Avengers to come out and save face. It's troubling times, and the Avengers are not well liked. It would have only made sense that their leader to give us some good PR." Christine said, punctuating her statement with a dry smile.

"Even though you didn't ask a question, I get the distinct feeling that you already have your mind made up about whatever it is you are trying get at." Charlotte interjected with an annoyed frown before Steve could even say anything.

Everhart turned her attention to Charlotte and blinked as if she had forgotten she had been standing next to Steve all along. A fake smile spread across her lips, "You look great, miss Owens. What are you wearing tonight, if I may ask?"

"A dress," Charlotte answered, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Christine let out a laugh, but was stunned shut when Tony Stark walked up to them, telling the approaching SHIELD agent to scram, before Happy grabbed the protesting agent by the scruff and hauled him away.

"Cynthia! It has not been long enough, darling." Tony exclaimed, spreading his arms out, and turning, mumbling to the couple to go, before he swooped up to Christine and enveloped her in a one arm hug.

Steve quickly guided Charlotte with a calming hand on the small of her back, smiling tightly and waving at the remaining reporters and cameras pointed their way until they reached the entrance and ducked inside. Happy nodded at them from his station by the door, and Charlotte smiled wide at him, thanking him with a kiss on the cheek and bear hug as a greeting.

"Missed you, Happy." She said as she let go, and waved at him good bye.

"It's nice to see you again, miss Owens." Happy said, his face hard in his typical way.

"Thanks, Happy," Steve said, patting the man in the arm. Happy nodded at them, and the couple kept on walking with the throng of people making their way through the lobby.

\----------

"What is this? Food for ants?!" Charlotte whispered furtively under her breath, nudging at Steve, and pointing indignantly at the plates in front of them.

"I get that reference," Steve said with a chuckle, and high fived Charlotte under the table. "I'll buy you a burger after this." He added, "and maybe ten for me." He lamented.

\----------

They'd gotten separated some time after dinner, after the few speeches given by donors, and the one given by Tony, who treated it as a platform to talk about the tribulations of trying to teach a geriatric about social media and the wonders of text messaging. Steve smiled calmly, but made sure to text him an emoji flipping the genius off under the table. Take that, Stark.

It was about half an hour later, when Steve found himself amongst a group of donors that the director of the Smithsonian had helpfully (and a tad too insistently) pointed out, mentioning their generosity and how great it would be for Steve to talk with them for a few, that he spotted his lady in red across the room.

Charlotte was laughing at something Tony had said, leaning against a pillar, a glass of champagne in one hand, the other holding the gold clutch she had chosen for the night. He saw Charlotte compose herself, throw that hair of hers (in a long bob still, but thick and voluminous all the same) back with a careless flip of her hair, before she leaned down, whispered something into Tony's ear, and laughed along with the engineer.

And Steve could be jealous, he really could, but he knew Charlotte was not flirting, and if Tony was, he knew it was harmless. So he let the thought go (although it lingered in the back of his head because he was a man still), and mumbled his excuses, before he walked over to the laughing couple.

Charlotte smiled wide when she saw him approach them and offered her flute. "I've got work tomorrow." She said and motioned for him to drink it.

"Speaking of," Tony interjected, his eyes focused on the phone in front of him, where he was furiously typing away. "Where are you working, again?"

"A law office," she said, leaning against Steve's side, who had grabbed her by the waist when he was near enough. "I get to help put together cases for people that are, in my opinion, totally guilty of corruption 95% of the time. But, it's a job, and I can't complain, and the team has won almost every single case they've take on, so..."

Tony hummed, shutting his phone off in that dramatic way that only Tony Stark could pull off, and directed severe eyes at her. "I need an assistant. Don't even have to live anywhere near New York. All expenses paid when we travel."

"Are you offering me the job, or are you simply stating your needs right now?" Charlotte asked, taking the half empty flute of champagne from Steve and downing it.

"You can start tomorrow." Tony responded, eyeing her from underneath his tinted glasses.

"I gotta give my two weeks. I can start then."

"Deal." He extended his hand out, shook hers, and mock saluted Steve. "My people will be in contact."

"Of course. Your people call my people, I know the drill" Charlotte said with a grin and laughed when the genius threw her a bemused look over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

"I got a better job." Charlotte said, giving him a wide, giddy smile.

And Steve could've acted a bit like a dick, because a small part of him wanted to. She had a job in DC, she was home when he got back from wherever he was, and he never had to guess. A new job as an assistant to Stark would mean she probably would be gone too, and their schedules might not coincide as much as he would like them to coincide.

But he remembered his vows to her. He might not be able to promise that he would come home every time he went into the field, but he promised he would be her number one fan. And the concept of home? Well, hadn't he already reminded himself that she was home, not the material things they had in their four walls? As long as she was breathing, as long as she wanted him, she would be his home always.

And if the giddy smile, and bright eyes told him anything, she would always be home-and he would make damn sure that she was happy. Always.

So he smiled, pulled her close, and said, "I heard, miss Hotshot."

"What da'ya say about ditching this joint, Hot Stuff? You still owe me a burger," She said, a hand smoothing down the front of his tuxedo jacket.

"Lead the way, doll." He said, knowing that he would follow her anywhere she led him. Always.


	17. Count on Me

Charlotte Owens was no Pepper Potts when it came to finding a good assistant, but Tony would take her over any of the other possibilities. In fact, it was Pepper that had reminded him that Charlotte could be an option; she was in on most of the things they did, anyway, and she was a college graduate.

Tony had rolled his eyes at the idea for a whole two weeks until he realized Pepper was being serious when she said she would no longer schedule any of his appointments ("I'm you're CEO, Tony!"). So Tony sucked it up, hired the first business major graduate on the stack of resumes on his desk, promptly fired them two weeks later, and sucked it up enough to know that he would have to give Charlotte a chance.

It wasn't that he didn't like the girl. He could sit down and have a beer or two or ten with her, and hold a conversation. She was curious without being abrasive, and seemed to be unflappable. Really, he liked her just fine, enough to feel comfortable texting her from time to time just to see if she would respond (and she would, sending him equally weird emoji-filled texts, sometimes even pictures of a grinning dog). She was fine, incredibly normal, really, but there was just something about having Steve's girlfriend working with him that made him a bit cautious. It was one thing working with the guy, tolerating him even, occasionally, but it was another hiring his fiancée.

"You're hiring Charlotte, Tony, not Steve." Pepper had dismissed his ranting, not even bothering to look up from the contracts she was looking over.

The opportunity to talk to her in person presented itself at the opening of Cap's Smithsonian exhibit. He had texted her the morning of, mentioning that he would be there, and had added a couple of irrelevant emoji for the heck of it.

She had responded with a thumbs up, an apple, a train, and a boxing glove emoji, making him chuckle briefly before turned his attention back to the meeting he was sitting through.

It had been easy getting her to agree. Like with almost every other conversation he had had with her previously, she seemed nonplused when he casually mentioned he needed an assistant, had answered correctly when she told him she needed to give two weeks (a sign of a good employee, if Tony knew one), and that was that.

By the time she began working with him, he came to realize that Pepper may have been right (at least 12% right). She was professional, addressing him as "Mr. Stark" in front of everyone, but reversing to Tony in private, smiling beside him, scheduling everything for him promptly, and hauling him off wherever he needed to be on time.

She was no Pepper Potts, but who could be?

"You should come up for dinner. You too, Happy. Steve made spaghetti." Charlotte mentioned with a smile as they reached her apartment complex.

They had just gotten back from Japan on a two-day trip to check on manufacturing, and had landed in D.C. early enough in the morning to attend a few meetings. Tony had tagged along on his way to the airport towards New York.

Before Tony could turn her down, Happy was opening the door for her, quickly popping his head back into the car when she got out to inform Tony that they hadn't even had lunch. Tony answered with a scowl that Happy returned all too quickly.

"And I've got a pie that I just need to pop into the oven for dessert," Charlotte informed him, her bags on the floor next to her.

And that's how Tony found himself in an elevator going up to the fifth floor with Charlotte and Happy chatting about dogs.

The grinning dog from Charlotte's pictures greeted them at the door, overexcited to see Charlotte who had been tackled to the floor the minute she crossed into the apartment. Steve popped his head from the kitchen greeting them and telling them dinner was almost ready.

"Make yourselves at home! I'm just gonna go set my stuff down," Charlotte said, batting away the dog who seemed desperate to lick her face off.

Charlotte lifted the dog (who looked all too heavy to be lifted) and carried him into the bedroom with her.

"We could be having steak right now," Tony whispered furtively, giving Happy a glare.

The man rolled his eyes, "it's a home cooked meal, Tony."

Charlotte came back barefooted, the dog padding after her, before he seemed to finally notice the new strangers and quickly sat in front of the two men, giving them that weird dog grin of his.

"His name's Timber," Charlotte informed them as she passed by on her way to the kitchen.

The dog stared at the men expectantly until Happy bent down to pet it behind the ears, at which point he lifted himself onto his hind legs to lick at Happy's chuckling face.

"Hi, dog." Tony said when Timber turned to him. "No, thanks, I'm good." He said, batting at the dog when he tried to reach him.

"Dinner's ready," Charlotte said, coming back, her hair a bit more disheveled than when she had walked into the kitchen, lips bruised.

Tony didn't comment on it, but wiggled his eyebrows at her when he passed by her on the way to the table, Charlotte blushing lightly, but rolling her eyes all the same.

Steve patted his back in greeting, asking about Pepper as he shook Happy's hand.

"She's good. She's actually in Germany right now, getting an award for her innovation in the business world as a woman," Tony responded as Charlotte passed him the breadsticks, well aware of how proud he sounded. He was extremely proud.

Steve smiled, mentioning how he would have to send his congratulations later.

Charlotte sighed, and said "that's why she's my favorite."

"Do you know how many times I hear you say someone or something is your favorite in a day?" Tony asked rhetorically, serving himself an extra helping of meatballs.

"At least 60," Charlotte replied nonchalantly, not taking the bait. "Bruce is still my all time favorite."

"Geez, thanks, doll," Steve said, with no heat behind it.

"You're welcome," she responded, grinning, bumping her shoulder against his. "How's your mom, Happy?"

The dinner went on in such a manner, which was a bit strange for Tony. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal in a while (a long while), and the Cap's cooking was good. What was more strange, but perhaps not unwelcomed, was how utterly normal the meal was. It was just the four adults, the dog by their feet occasionally nipping at Steve's jeans for a meatball, with conversation that didn't involve intel on a bad guy, or about the inefficiency of SHIELD sometimes.

They talked about Happy's mother, about Japan (Charlotte had mixed feelings about the country), about how Timber had won Steve and Charlotte brownie points with the neighbors at the Halloween cook-out (and that was weird to hear), and about Tony's robots that Charlotte was so in love with.

They had apple pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert, and talked some more, this time about the fact that Tony had just found out that Steve had met Albert Einstein at one point during his tour to sell war bonds across the United States.

"Nice guy," Steve commented with a shrug. "Didn't get to have much of a conversation with him, though. He hung around Howard most of the night."

"Yeah, I got the pictures," Tony responded.

Happy turned to Charlotte as Tony and Steve started a conversation on World War II weaponry.

"You ever stop being impressed?" He asked, tilting his head towards Steve.

"I see him trip over air in the mornings trying to wake up." She responded with a chuckle. "Keeps me grounded."

\----------

"I updated your calendars and uploaded them to your phone, and sent a copy to Jarvis, so there's no excuse for you not making a meeting on time. I'll meet you at the airport at 5 am on Friday. I've got a meeting with Senator Stern to talk about government contracting tomorrow-Pepper sent me notes on it, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"Wait, since when do you talk to Senators?" Tony asked on his way out the door, an untouched cherry pie on hand (Happy carrying a blueberry one).

"Since I live in D.C. and your lobbyist for this kind of thing is on maternity leave." Charlotte responded, handing a bag of what looked like ciabatta bread to Happy. "I'm a part-time consultant now," she added with a small dance.

"Do you have experience?" Tony asked out of habit.

She shrugged. "I did policy research for a couple of campaigns and met with donors occasionally during undergrad. I think I can handle it."

Tony regarded her for a few seconds from under his tinted glasses before he nodded once, stepped out the door and began walking towards the elevators.

"I don't have to start looking for a new assistant already, do I, miss Owens?" He threw over his shoulder on the way to the elevators.

"Not yet, mister Stark," she called back, adding a goodbye to both men.

Happy and Tony stared straight ahead as the elevator took them down to the ground floor, pies and ciabatta bread in hands.

"She's a keeper, Tony." Happy said suddenly, not turning to face him.

"She's not the worst," Tony agreed with a smirk. After all, she was no Pepper Potts. But she would do.


	18. Fall For you

Charlotte was happy, and Steve was happy that she was happy, but not happy with the amount of days they would go without seeing each other.

Right.

It wasn't that he was jealous, he'd established that a while back. He trusted Charlotte with the same amount of trust that she had on him, so her working alongside Stark was not much of an issue, no matter how much Steve felt like strangling the guy half the time.

And it wasn't that Charlotte was suddenly not coming home at all. She'd been working with Stark for the past three months, and had only stayed in New York overnight once when there had been a crisis at one of the enterprises' factories in India. In fact, unless she was overseas, she was home every night, and would work in D.C. most of the time-scheduling and hassling could be done over the phone, after all.

It was, at the root of it, the fact that he saw less and less of her as the weeks passed by. There had been an increase in global almost-catastrophes that had needed Steve and his newly recruited Strike Team that made it so that Steve would be gone for a couple of days at a time sometimes. And that meant that he would sometimes come home to an empty home, and a text on his phone saying that Timber was hanging out with Sam (Steve's new friend).

He didn't like that.

Which was how he was trying to justify himself as he stormed down the street to cool off.

\-----------

Earlier

\-----------

He was greeted at the door by a smiling Timber (Charlotte was home!), who quickly recoiled from him when he got a whiff of the blood on his uniform-the dog had a thing against the smell and it made it easier to deduce that he had had some bad experience with it.

"Sorry, pal," he muttered, dropping his duffle bag by the door, and dislodging his shield from his back to set down alongside it.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge to find leftover pizza with his name on it in Charlotte's writing. He closed it, deciding to take a shower and throw his uniform into the washing machine with an extra dose of laundry detergent before he made his way into the bedroom.

He discarded everything, and made his way into the bathroom adjoining their bedroom in his boxer briefs, sighing in relief the way he did when he would see Charlotte after some time of not seeing her.

"Hey!" She greeted with a smile, a towel around her and wet waves framing her face. She was applying that sage smelling face cream she did every night, her toothbrush discarded by the sink. "Missed you!"

He stopped to kiss her briefly before he turned the shower on.

"Tough day?" She asked, noting his rigid posture.

"Yeah," he said, turning to her with a self-deprecating smile. "Yours?"

She shrugged. "It was good…and the three days before that were good too." She added. They hadn't seen each other in four days.

"Yeah, well, what can we do?" he snapped, closing the glass door behind him and grabbing the shampoo.

"Is this really how it's going to be tonight?" Charlotte asked, and he could make out her form leaning against the countertop.

Charlotte had a way of making him instantly guilty when he snapped, and it wasn't necessarily because she couldn't take it. She could, and would snap back, but was calm enough to check him before they started an unnecessary fight. That's where the guilt would come in-she'd stay calm, and ask him if they were about to have a fight. He'd only ever answered yes a couple of times, the others they would resolve with talking.

He popped his head back out, "I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's fine," she said with a small smile, pushing herself off the counter. "You can tell me about your shitty days in bed."

He found her on the floor with a duffle bag, folding blouses and skirts.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," and he sounded annoyed when it came out, and almost regretted it. Except that he didn't.

He had had a shitty couple of days, had half his team in the medical bay back on base with injuries that took them off the roster for at least another month, and had gained nothing out of it. There had been no intel to gain, and, in fact, they had walked into a trap.

He had secured a few days for his team and himself, arguing with Maria Hill that he wouldn't go out into the field without vetted intel unless he was going alone, and telling her his men were taking some days off. The deputy director had merely blinked as he gave his demands, and told him to take some days off himself.

So he was home, and had expected to at least have Charlotte there too.

Charlotte turned and he could tell that the comment had incensed her. But she refrained from glaring and merely said, "I'm flying to China for the next two days for a conference."

"Of course you are," he said, discarding his towel, and putting on a pair of sweats rather angrily.

"Whoa. Cool it down." Charlotte said, this time with a glare.

He gave her a look, opting out of saying anything, knowing she was telling him to tone it down, but he didn't feel like it much. He threw on a t-shirt.

"You know, I don't want to take this personally, but I am, because I feel like it is," She started, standing up. "So I'm going to remind you that I'm not as passive aggressive as you are being every time I see you packing. Nor when you cancel plans because of your work. And that, by the way, I actually ask you if you need any help. So cool it, because I think you don't want to have this conversation right now either."

He glared, incessantly angry, with a need to punch one of those bags that Tony had engineered to not break.

So he glared, took a calming breath, and told Charlotte not to wait up for him.

He almost expected her to ask him where he was going, but she didn't, merely saying "You can take care of yourself. I won't," in such a cool tone that he almost reared his head back to start yelling. But he didn't, sidestepping Timber who had his tail behind his legs as he saw him storming towards the door. He knew the dog ran to hide under the coffee table when he slammed the door, and felt a bit of remorse.

\-----------

So that's how he found himself walking around the block. He couldn't even bring himself to go to SHIELD headquarters and work his anger off at the gym there.

The anger blew almost instantly after walking into the cool air of the night, and had been replaced by the blossoming of shame and guilt inside his chest. But he kept walking, trying to figure out how he could even begin to justify his behavior to himself and Charlotte.

Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he hadn't promised anything to the girl at home-just that he would be her number one fan in anything that she did. He just wanted her to be happy.

And he was selfish. And God, was that true. He had been happy to see her waiting at home anytime he would come home from a mission, had overlooked the fact that she didn't enjoy her work. That she wanted something more, but didn't know what to do about it, and he had listened but offered nothing. Because she would be home every time.

And it was true that she never complained. She took everything calmly, and would volunteer to help him pack his bag when he was going overseas…wouldn't snap at him like he'd just done.

\----------

Steve arrived back at their apartment an hour later, and found Charlotte curled up on the couch with Timber, his snout buried on the crook of her neck.

"You can take the bed," Charlotte whispered as he walked in, not even bothering to open her eyes. Timber's eyes followed him as he walked towards them.

"Doll-"

"Please don't. I've gotta be up in like two hours to get to the airport on time."

Steve sat on the floor by the couch, running a hand through Timber, and letting the dog lick at his fingers when he reached behind his ears.

"We said we wouldn't go to bed angry, especially since we know we may not see each other for days at a time," he reminded her, waiting for Charlotte to open her eyes. He left the or ever out of it, knowing it was implied. It was always implied.

She opened her eyes after a minute or two of silence, and he could see they were a bit red. He'd made her cry.

"I moved to D.C. without wanting to," she started, "and I did it because you asked me to. And you know how much I got nothing out of working for an attorney's office that valued money over substantial cases that would actually help people. The least I expected was for you to have my back on this one."

He knew he shouldn't be giving excuses, but he was tired and perhaps a bit angry still so he said, "I had a shitty day-"

"But that shouldn't mean that you take it out on me. I didn't do anything to you, and I simply do not understand how I end up taking the brunt of your frustration the minute you step into the apartment," she said, fire in her eyes. "Tonight was not the first time."

He sat in silence, and she continued.

"I'm not saying that I expect you to come into the door with a smile and in a good mood all the time. I just need you to understand that I am not in the business of trying to pick fights with you on purpose. And that you can be hurtful sometimes."

More silence. She sat up, and Timber readjusted himself to lay on her lap, burying his snout into her stomach.

"With that said, you could've told me you didn't want me to work for Tony earlier. I would've told you to fuck off, but it wouldn't have come out in that doucebag way of yours."

"I would've never told you that I didn't want you doing something. I will never tell you that." He said, making sure she was looking into his eyes, his hands firmly on her knees. "I just…I got used to coming home to you."

He realized what it sounded like when her eyes lit up in mild indignation. "Not that-not that I am saying I want you to stay at home. Never. I would never. God, I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"

"A little," she said, giving him a small smile and he felt like he could breathe again. "It's hard not seeing you all the time for me too, you know."

He laid his forehead against her knees, sighing when she carded her nails through his short hair.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, turning earnest blue eyes at her.

She smiled, "me too. I was a little too hot coming in, too."

He shook his head, "you told me to cool it down more than enough times."

"Yeah I did," she said, not disagreeing with him with a smile.

"Can I take you to bed with me, Ms. Owens?" He asked with a rueful smile.

"Before marriage? How dare you ask such a thing!" She replied, but grinned.

He hefted the sleeping dog off her, who barely registered him before he licked at his arm lazily.

"You weren't complaining the other day," he threw back over his shoulder, depositing Timber onto his dog bed by the fireplace.

"Besides," he said, putting his arms out to catch her by the back of her knees and upper back, making her yelp and hit at his chest when he had situated her in his arms. "It ain't like I haven't put a ring on you, darling."


	19. It's Always Been You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This picks up right after the last chapter ended. Keep the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Iron Man 3 loosely in mind.

The alarm woke them up an hour and a half later, and Steve groaned, turning away from it, and prodding at Charlotte's feet with his own.

"Leave me 'lone," she said into her pillow, kicking at him much harder than he had, but he felt the bed dip as she got up, and turned off the alarm. "This is some real bullshit, having to be up at three thirty in the morning." He heard her grumble on the way to the bathroom.

Steve sighed and gave himself thirty or so minutes while Charlotte got ready to snooze in bed before he would get up to make her a cup of coffee to go. Maybe he'd get her to at least eat a piece of toast-she had a thing against breakfast.

He was abruptly woken from his light sleep by a thump and a slight cry from their walk-in closet, and Steve would've been worried if Charlotte didn't hit her limbs or head against a wall at least once every morning.

"Josh is driving me to the airport, since we weren't sure whether you would be back today. You should go back to bed." Charlotte informed him as he handed her a coffee tumbler, her eyes transfixed on whatever she was reading on her phone.

Josh was one of the SHIELD agents assigned to shadow her when Steve wasn't around. He had met the guy a couple of times, and had read up on his file. He had only been working at the agency for the last year and didn't have much field experience, but anyone tailing Charlotte had the same characteristics-Fury refused to waste too many resources on someone they considered a very low level target.

"It's fine, I'm going on a run as soon as you leave, anyway." He told her, popping some bread into the toaster.

"Say hi to my boyfriend for me, will you?" Charlotte said and laughed when he gave her a deadpanned look.

It turned out that Sam had been the guy that had flirted with her at a Starbucks that one time a while back. They had only found out about it when Charlotte and Steve had gone out to Starbucks one Saturday morning and encountered Sam in line. Charlotte had instantly greeted him with a "hey, boyfriend!" at the same time Steve called his name, and the confusion on Steve's face for the thirty seconds it took him to figure it out had Charlotte in stitches for a good five minutes.

Sam had looked mildly panicked for a couple of minutes, while he tried to explain to Steve that he had flirted with her once-but only because he hadn't seen the ring on her finger, and he had mistaken her offer to give him muffins from time to time as flirting. Charlotte then explained that those were part of the muffins she took to work sometimes, and that, by that definition, she was flirting with half the population in D.C.

It took a few weeks for Steve to find it amusing in the least, and for Sam to stop apologizing every time they saw each other, but Charlotte never stopped calling Sam "boyfriend".

Her phone vibrated against the counter, and she quickly gathered her purse, her duffle bag, and the card board box full of blueberry muffins, opening it to hand him one, before pulling at his neck so that she could kiss him properly.

"See ya!" She said, detouring towards Timber, who was tiredly looking up from his dog bed, and giving him a kiss in between his eyes.

He met her by the door, where he took the duffle bag off her shoulders, and grabbed his set of keys. "I'll walk you down," he simply told her, holding her hand on the way to the elevator.

Outside, Josh was waiting with the trunk open, and greeted Steve with a handshake.

"Morning, Josh," Charlotte said, taking a muffin out, and handing it over.

The agent thanked her, bid his goodbye to Steve and told her he was ready whenever she was.

Steve gave her one, long last kiss and mumbled "I love you" into her lips before pulling at a strand of hair, "see you in two days."

"I love you too," she responded, getting into the car.

\----------

"I think you missed the turn, Josh." Charlotte said, looking up from the email she was typing on her tablet.

Josh hummed but didn't answer, and Charlotte's bones turned cold. But she remained calm, convincing herself that nothing could possibly be wrong. Josh was SHIELD, after all. She set her work aside.

At the next turn, Charlotte tried again, "the airport is in the opposite direction."

This time, an answer. "I know." And he smiled at her through the rearview mirror. "I would recommend you turn off you phone."

Charlotte swallowed thickly and willed her heart to calm down. She took out her phone from her bag and made sure she was within sight when she powered it off, doing the same to her laptop and tablet when he asked her to.

There was more silence, and Charlotte had stopped recognizing the streets by the time she said, "I don't know anything. Steve-he doesn't tell me anything."

"I know." He said again, the smile still in place.

"There's people waiting for me at the tarmac…I'm supposed to be flying to China right now. They'll know I'm missing." She tried.

"You keep stating very obvious things." He commented, as he parked the car underneath a bridge (and Charlotte would've laughed at the cliché place if she weren't terrified enough that her hands wouldn't stop shaking).

He opened the door for her, "come on, we're taking another car."

She stepped out gingerly, knowing better than to fight at this point.

Josh grabbed her elbow and stalked her over to a black Escalade that looked to Charlotte like the fancy ones SHIELD used. The ones Steve had told her were impossible to track, bulletproof, and were loaded with Stark weaponry.

"SHIELD will probably know too," she tried, again, and Josh scoffed, almost throwing her into the back of the car, her knee hitting the door's edge and making her see stars for a second or two.

"SHIELD will not be SHIELD very soon, miss Owens," He informed her, getting into the driver's seat, and joining the freeway out the city towards Virginia. "Your Captain will find that out very soon. In the meantime, you'll work as a bit of distraction."

\----------

Charlotte flinched when the door to the room she'd been in for what felt like days opened and stood up when Clint Barton was thrown in. The steel door closed behind him.

"Are you the rescue team?" She asked. "'Cause if you are, you're already doing a subpar job."

"Hello to you too. I'm great, thanks for asking." He retorted, frowning down at the cut in his arm.

"I'm sorry," she amended, "this is my first time in captivity. Don't know the proper etiquette yet."

Clint snorted and looked up at her. Her right knee was sporting a nasty bruise, and he could see various scrapes on her shins and arms. There were distinct finger imprints around her neck, a busted lower lip, and deep purple rings underneath her eyes, but no obvious signs of blood.

She wasn't the worse he'd seen.

"Anybody ever tell you you're not s'possed to fight back?" He asked her casually, groaning as he lowered himself to the grown, adjusting so that he was leaning against the wall.

"Haven't read the guidelines on kidnapping yet." She responded, sitting next to him, her shoulder touching his, and he could feel her trembling.

"I'll lend you my copy when we get outta here," he said.

She laughed with a hint of mania in it, before her laughter became hyperventilation.

"Alright…" he said, guiding her head between her knees, and patting at her back. He found her hand and held it, letting her squeeze it hard, and muttering quiet alrights, telling her to focus on breathing.

"I don't like this," she finally said from in between her keens, and he could tell she was crying. "They said Steve's dead." And the sobs started.

"He's…" Well, ok, Clint didn't actually know whether he was dead or not. He knew Fury was supposedly dead, but the man had been the one to call Clint to tell him that he needed to extract Charlotte from a warehouse somewhere in South Carolina, informing him that the Captain was otherwise preoccupied.

Clint almost called him every name under the sun (what kind of man outsourced saving his girl if he was able to save her?!) until he received a call from Natasha telling him what had gone down in D.C. and to inform him Steve was rather unresponsive in a hospital bed.

So he didn't tell her Steve was fine, just said, "he's in the hospital."

She turned to look at him through tear filled eyes, deep bruises under them, before she nodded, took a deep breath and seemed to get a hold of herself.

"They're speaking Russian, I think…all I can understand is HYDRA. Steve told me a bit about it." She mentioned, changing the subject.

"It's a shit-show," he summarized, and she nodded, her arms around her knees, no care to the fact she was wearing a skirt. Decorum went out the door when kidnapped.

The steel door suddenly opened, and two water bottles and a loaf of bread were rolled towards them before it closed.

"You eaten anything yet?" He asked, and she shook her head. "Good. First thing to know about being kidnapped is that you don't eat anything they give you unless your body tells you you're about to die. You never know what might be in there." He said, looking at the water bottle. "Even if it's sealed."

"I figured," she muttered. "Hey, not to complain, but also, yes I'm complaining…you got yourself caught."

"I got a plan. Give me…" he did the math only a trained assassin like himself could do, "three minutes and sixteen seconds, and you'll see."

"Like, explosions?"

He hummed, getting up and stretching. "I suggest you stretch because you are about to do some hard-core running pretty soon. Stay behind me at all times, and do everything I say. And I mean everything, Charlotte." Charlotte nodded, but Clint grabbed her forearms and looked straight at her widened eyes. "I mean it. If I tell you to leave me behind, you high tail it outta here. Just run North. A blue Chevy truck will meet you three miles from here. Got it?"

"Yeah," she breathed, and let out a shaky laugh. "I'm not entirely sure I've ever done that much cardio in my life."

"The adrenaline will kick in." He told her, grabbing her arm and guiding her to the furthest corner of the room from where the explosions would come from, tucking her against the corner, and covering her back with his body when the last explosion opened a hole through their door.

Yelling could be heard, and rushed footsteps heading their way.

"Come on!" Clint yelled, knowing her ears would be ringing from the explosions just as his were, grabbing her arm, and pulling her towards the hole on the wall, leading them through debris and dust clouds towards where he knew the exit was.

They tripped over a body and he cursed, Charlotte's "holy shit!" dying in her lips when he pulled her up with him, quickly scavenging the body in front of him for weapons. He came up with a handgun which he put in Charlotte's hand, and an automatic, which he put under his arm while he dug around for the grenades he knew the dead guy was carrying. Finding them and quickly stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket, he grabbed the automatic in his hand and began inspecting it, asking Charlotte if she knew how to use her handgun.

"Nope. Nah, I'm good. I don't want one." She said, throwing the gun towards him and he cursed, catching it before it hit the ground.

"What the fuck! Take it." He forced it into her hand and closed her cold, clammy fingers around it. "When someone points one at you, you do the same and shoot, got it? Don't hold it too close to your face, use both hands, and clench up. And for the love of everything, do no-I repeat, do not-close your eyes. Any amount of aiming will do the job."

She was shaking her head before he even finished, a panicked look on her face, "I don't wanna kill anybody, please, I-"

"Aim for the thigh," he interrupted, grabbing her chin with his empty hand and making her look at him. "I won't let it come to that. This is just a precaution. Tell me you'll use it if you need to."

He waited until she nodded her head and he let go of her chin to take her empty hand in his and started tugging her towards the exit again.

They sidled through the clearing dust, hiding in shadows as men with guns (way bigger guns than the ones in their hands) ran past them, yelling orders in Russian and English alike, before they could see a light to the outside, where Charlotte could tell it was late night.

"Stay close," Clint told her, linking his arm through hers and pulling her at a rapid pace towards the open hole.

And it was way too easy. They came upon nobody as they closed in on the hole, and were able to climb out of it fairly easy, Clint pulling her at a sprint towards the cover of trees heading North. Even in the cover, he pulled her, only stopping to curse when he heard the unmistakable crunch of bone breaking, Charlotte giving a wail before her weight collapsed onto him. Her left ankle was a goner, and he almost chided her for wearing heels until he reminded himself she didn't choose her outfit for her kidnapping.

He took her empty hand and pushed it against her mouth, shushing her as her eyes filled with pained tears.

"I know it hurts, but we need to run. Grab onto me, we just have like a mile or so to go." He said, putting his arm around her, her own arm going around his shoulder.

They moved relatively slower then, Charlotte breathing in roughly through her nose, and grinding her teeth every time her foot would jostle. At one point, she hit his arm for him to stop, and she took off the heel of the rapidly swelling and purpling foot, panting into her forearm as she did so.

They finally made it to the pick-up truck, where Sharon Carter was waiting for them. She helped Clint get Charlotte into the truck by grabbing unto the underside of her other arm and hauling her up.

They rode in silence for a long time, Charlotte's hard breathing reminding them of her broken ankle.

"So," it was Charlotte who broke the silence, "I was under the impression you were a nurse, Sharon. Or is that even your name?"

"I was working for SHIELD. Not a nurse. And yes, I am still Sharon," she replied, her eyes on the road.

"Should've known," she mumbled under her breath. "Do you know anything about Steve?"

Sharon turned to make quick eye contact with Clint, and he nodded.

"He's in the hospital under a ridiculous amount of morphine. It's…sort of working."

"What does that mean?"

"His metabolism burns through it very quickly. There's only so much the doctors can pump into his body before he burns it off. He's been in and out of consciousness since they found him yesterday."

"But not dead." Charlotte said with a sigh.

"Nah. Cap's too stubborn headed to let go without beating himself up about the fact it wasn't him saving his girl." Clint interjected, getting a small smiled out of Charlotte.

"I know you guys are hungry and need to be checked out, but we've got to get to D.C. first," Sharon told them after much more silence.

"'s fine," Charlotte mumbled, her head thrown back against the headrest, her breathing a bit raspy.

Clint just grunted.

\----------

Natasha was the first familiar face Charlotte saw from her hospital bed, where she was trying to argue with her nurse that she was fine enough to be discharged. Sharon and Clint had dropped her off, and ran off to "put out fires," and whether those were real or figurative, Charlotte still wasn't sure.

"You look half dead," Natasha said by way of greeting, sitting at the edge of the hospital bed, the nurse scurrying off before Charlotte started arguing again.

"You should see the other guys," Charlotte responded, almost on automatic before she followed it up with, "they won't tell me whether Steve is in this hospital or not."

"He's a floor up."

And Charlotte visibly deflated, reclining hard against the fluffed pillows, her left ankle in a black cast, elevated slightly by a pillow.

"I heard you didn't have to have an operation."

"Yup. I get this fashionable, black cast, though. I'll ask for your autograph when I get metallic markers," Charlotte answered, and Natasha could see the exhaustion clear in her eyes and voice.

There was a drip which had to be pumping pain medication into her system, but the woman seemed to be fighting hard against the pull of sleep.

Natasha smiled internally to herself. She'd met the woman a couple of times, had not even had very friendly conversations with her, but knew her to be a stubborn one. If she had ever threatened the woman it was because SHIELD had wanted clean hands when something happened to her-she had been told she was in danger, and she had done nothing, would be SHIELD's defense if Charlotte ever got hurt.

Natasha didn't hate Charlotte, and actually didn't think the woman hated her either. It was more like Charlotte treated her with a bit of apprehension now, and Natasha couldn't blame her.

And it wasn't like Charlotte hadn't tried to be friendly, at least. Ever since their move to D.C., where Natasha was also stationed, working alongside Steve, the Captain had extended Charlotte's invitation to dinner with them on more than one occasion. She always declined, not wanting to make Charlotte uncomfortable in her own home, and, at any rate, at least the first time, Natasha believed Steve had been the one going behind Charlotte's back and inviting her without the other woman's permission. Until Steve showed up the day after she would decline his invitation with leftovers, and slices of pie from Charlotte, always with a sticky note on the Tupperware that read, in chicken scratch "You missed out! Maybe next time!".

But Natasha kept her distance.

"You've eaten?" She asked Charlotte, and she nodded, pointing to the discarded hospital tray, untouched greens still on the plate.

"My parents…"

"They're on a flight right now. Clint's picking them up in about an hour or so." Natasha informed her, and Charlotte cursed.

"You know, they loved Steve up until they found out he's Captain America. Now my mother acts like she's being casual about it, but is freaking out about it on the inside, and my father is just being an asshole about it all…this is going to be a shitshow."

Natasha didn't say anything, and Charlotte sighed.

"I was watching CNN earlier, and they were doing a segment on the timeline of the events that happened while I was otherwise…occupied," Charlotte said with a wry smile, "and, from my understanding, my home is riddled with bullet holes right now."

Natasha nodded.

"Is Timber alright?" Charlotte asked, her voice catching in her throat like she was going to cry.

"He's hanging out with the guys at the VA," Natasha said trying to smile reassuringly. She wasn't sure it looked like it. "And Sam volunteered his home for you guys to stay while you figure everything out."

"Ok." Charlotte said, a sob escaping her. "Ok…and Steve…he's ok?"

"He's going to be," Natasha responded, pushing as much conviction into her voice as she could. "He's been in and out of it…he keeps mumbling something that might be your name."

The woman sniffed, and suddenly asked, "Did he know I was…?"

"You were taken because HYDRA thought they might use you as a distraction," Natasha paused. "Director Fury thought it best to keep him focused on the task at hand. That's why Clint was called in."

Charlotte nodded, her eyes downcast for a pregnant minute before she looked up with bright and earnest brown eyes, catching Natasha's own. "Do you have friends, Natasha?"

"Friendships, they're…complicated in our world."

"I don't. I mean, not strong ones. I have friends…just, not ones I can talk to about all this."

Natasha didn't respond, but sat closer to Charlotte, who grabbed her hand when she was near enough. Natasha froze, but squeezed it after a few seconds.

"There are two other women I know, besides myself, that know what the fuck is going on with all of this…and I don't see why we're not friends." She added, "plus, women friendships are empowering, and amazing, and all that is right with the world."

Natasha gave her a weak smile, and Charlotte, as if encouraged added, "and we get to have unabashed bitching sessions, where we don't judge each other about our first world problems."

"Everything is, as you put it, a shitshow." Natasha started, squeezing the other woman's hand in hers. "But maybe later, we can go get drunk together…and have a bitching session."

Charlotte grinned, "And don't think I won't remember. I'm going to be so annoying, reminding you about what you just said."

Natasha took her hand away and stood up, "I take it back." She said, but made sure to add a small smirk to it. "I'll see what I can do about getting you out of here."

\----------

"Ms. Owens?" A young nurse poked her head into Steve's room, where Charlotte was trying and failing to remember the password to her email so that she could log into it from Natasha's laptop, which the woman had let her borrow for the day. "There's a man that says he's Tony Stark on the phone at the nurse's station for you."

"I forgot I was employed!" She whispered to the nurse as she passed by on crutches, leaving the laptop by Steve's feet.

The nurse gave a confused laugh, but followed her out the room.

"I can explain," She said as way of answering the phone. "And it's a real good one."

"Save it. I got the gist of it already." Tony responded, his own voice sounding tired. "You alright?"

"I'm ok. I got a really cool cast out of it…so. How about you?" Charlotte asked.

The past week seemed to have just been, as everyone seemed to be putting it, a complete shitshow. Once Charlotte's parents had ran their voices hoarse trying to explain to her why Steve was a danger, she had told them to go back home if that was all they were here for. Her father had clenched his jaw, and stormed out of Sam's house, and her mother had merely shook her head. They had stayed, but Charlotte was not on very good speaking terms with them right now.

So she spent most of her time by Steve's bedside (not that she wouldn't have otherwise), Sam or Natasha sometimes joining her, and had caught the news when they were reporting that Tony Stark was dead as her and Natasha sat watching T.V.

She had cried, and hadn't even been able to even begin to come up with what to say when she would call Pepper. It turned out Pepper was on her own adventures, and wasn't answering her own phone. Meanwhile, Charlotte cried because while Tony was eccentric at best, and a dick at worst, her boss to boot, she considered him her friend. And as she waddled in her own self-pity and tears, Tony Stark was suddenly alive after the second day of his death making headlines. Charlotte had cried some more.

"Fine." He answered.

"I'm sorry-"

"For what?"

"I don't know," she answered with a watery smile that she knew he wouldn't see. God, she'd been crying way too much lately.

"And Cap?"

"He took a beating, but he should be coming back anytime now. The doctors are pumping less and less morphine every day."

"I thought his body metabolized them too quickly for that to even be effective." He said, not a question, in true Tony Stark fashion.

"Yeah, it's insane the amount they're pumping into his system to begin with. They tried to get him completely off, but he's in too much pain to not do anything about it. Lots of internal stuff that they can't operate on since they don't want to risk putting him under, so they're hoping his body repairs itself. And it is. Just slower than we would like."

"I'll talk to Bruce, maybe we can start coming up with something for the future." Tony said and cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm pulling out. But I can help in that aspect."

Charlotte understood what he meant.

"Whatever makes you happy, Tony," she said, and meant it. "You'll always be Tony Stark, either way."

Tony cleared his throat again, "which means I am still your boss," and Tony's bravado was back, "so I get to tell you to take your time. Job's still there for you. I'll send you new tech, since I hear your HYDRA bodyguard destroyed them, and you tell me when you're ready. No rush."

"Thank you, Tony." She said, but added in a rush, "I'm homeless right now, by the way, so if you could just send it to Sam's address." She gave him the address, knowing Jarvis on his phone would catch it.

And it wasn't like she was really homeless. The apartment was still there, but she had refused (and had been advised not to, anyway, by Natasha) to stay there since it was riddled with bullet holes everywhere, their living room in shambles, bloodstains on the hard wood floor that no one had bothered to clean up, and caution tape everywhere. The most she had been willing to do was go into her and Steve's room and retrieve the essentials, making a note to buy Timber a whole new dog bed.

"The tower still has plenty of rooms, if you guys need 'em." Tony reminded her before they said their goodbyes and hung up.

\-----------

She heard jazz music coming from Steve's room as she slowly made her way towards it on her crutches, and she guessed that Sam must've come in sometime while she was on the phone with Tony.

"Act dead," she heard Sam say furtively before she walked into the room, the man sitting way too casually to be casual, pretending to read a book upside down.

She narrowed her eyes at him as he greeted her. "What?" he asked, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody." He answered way too quickly. "Not Steve."

From her peripheral, she saw Steve's lips twitch.

Her eyes widen, and she poked his thigh with a crutch before she made her way to the bed. "Is he awake?" and almost immediately, "are you awake?" she asked, sitting on his bed (taking care not to jostle him too much), and grabbing his hand.

"You said you were going to kill Natasha or me if we were the ones Steve woke up to!" Sam said, drawing up his arms in peace at the same time Steve croaked, "hey, doll," with a fading boyish smile as the pain was still evident.

She almost sobbed, but choked on it instead, bringing the hand she was holding to her face. She counted to ten to calm her own trembling hands, and the relieved sobs trying to wrack through her form, before looking up again at distraught blue eyes.

"Who'd you beat up?" He asked gently, his arm coming up to graze at her busted lip before brushing lightly against the ones on her neck, his brow furrowed in that way of his.

"I got into a bit of a pickle with some HYDRA guys," she said lightly, jumping into action and adjusting the bed so he could sit up enough to drink water. She thrust the straw into his mouth before he could speak. "Drink, then talk."

Sam waved at them goodbye and promised to bring them dinner later, waving away Charlotte's gratitude.

"What happened, Charlotte?"

"Josh was HYDRA." She stated, playing with his fingers in her lap. She heard rather than saw Steve take a steading breath. "Long story short, the fuckers thought I would be a good distraction while everything happened here, but the joke was on them because I wasn't…so."

"I didn't-"

"I know!" She said quickly, looking up and seeing Steve's troubled face. "I know. Clint found me."

Steve reclined his head against the pillows behind him, eyes staring up, and Charlotte could feel how upset he was. "I thought you were in China…I even left a voicemail thinking you were busy…and the time zones…" He turned to her then, earnest, anguished blue eyes turned to capture hers, his hands grabbing onto hers. "I am so sorry."

"For what? It's not your fault. You didn't know. And even if you had, can you really tell me you'd let everything that could have happened happen just because you were trying to rescue one of me? The math doesn't add up."

Charlotte wasn't stupid. She loved Steve, knew that he loved her, but she was realistic enough to know how math worked for superheroes. For soldiers. How could saving one of her justify letting a hundred others die?

"Don't," and Steve looked hurt that she would even say that. "Don't you dare say that, Charlotte. It's you first. Always."

A choked sob slipped, and the tears slipped. "Well, then you're stupider than I thought."

Steve pulled her until her head was leaning against his shoulder, careful of his injuries. "My brand of stupid is unmeasurable, then. Because I mean it."

They sat in silence for several minutes, Steve eventually leaning his head against hers, the honey smell of her hair calming him.

"You promised me you would try," she whispered against his shoulder. "You promised, and it feels like you didn't even try."

"I never try to die on purpose, doll," he responded in his own whisper.

"That's not what I said," she pulled her head up to look at him with sad brown eyes, a consistent, treacherous trail of tears running down her face, emphasizing the dark rings underneath them. "You promised you would try your hardest to come home to me at the end of the day. You didn't, and you can't deny it because Natasha released everything online…and there are recorded comm conversations…you let him almost kill you."

A beat of think silence.

"I had to try," he told her, his eyes demanding that she understand. "Bucky remembered me."

Charlotte shook her head, giving a watery laugh. "I want to punch you so bad."

"Have at it. This is probably the only time it will actually hurt." He said, a small smile growing on his lips, widening when Charlotte laugh again.

"I don't hit the old and sickly," she sassed back, running a gentle hair through his messy hair, her face turning sad again.

"Bucky…I read what I could find on the files online, which wasn't much on him, but…he'll need a lot of help."

"Which is why I need-"

"I know. Just…just keep the stupid to a reasonable level, please. I don't want to be by your hospital bedside again for at least fifty more decades." Charlotte said in that Charlotte way of hers.

Sure, they would have talks about this later, but for now, she was calm and steady (given the situation) Charlotte, who took everything in stride, and who asked only that he make promises he could keep.

"You planning on outliving me?" He asked, running his thumb along her knuckles.

"Nah…I just wanna grow old with you."


End file.
